


The Lowlanders' Grand Game

by Mysdrym



Series: The Lowlanders' Grand Game [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A Pitiful Attempt At Writing A Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Avvar, Angst, Avvar, Avvar!Blackwall, Avvar!Cassandra, Avvar!Cole, Avvar!Cullen, Avvar!Dorian, Avvar!Hawke, Avvar!Jim - Freeform, Avvar!Justice, Avvar!Morrigan, Avvar!Nathaniel, Bit of angst here and there, Eventual Fluff, Feelings and stuff, Fenris x M!Hawke (though it's a secondary romance and not a major one), Fluff, Now with art in chapter 4!, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-04-10 13:35:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 136,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4393916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysdrym/pseuds/Mysdrym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Red Lion clan is roped into assisting the Shadow Wolf clan in unraveling a lowlander scheme against the Avvar, Thane Cullen Magicsbane finds that nothing is ever simple or straightforward in the lowlands.</p><p>Art in chapter 4, thanks to 0wallie0!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm jumping on the whole Avvar!AU, with my own Avvar!Cullen story. Just a few quick things: 
> 
> My Trevalyan is from Starkhaven and not Ostwick because I like the accent more. That is literally the only reason.
> 
> I am also not a huge smut writer, so this is probably just gonna get fluffy at most (I might try writing smut in later chapters, and if I do, I'll be sure to put up a warning and stuff). I'm mainly writing this to work on being able to write romances, so any feedback will be appreciated greatly. Also, I would love feedback on fight scenes or just my writing in general. 
> 
> One last thing: I am pretty new to posting stuff on AO3, so if I'm messing up tagging or anything (like if you can think of extra tags I should be using), please let me know.
> 
> Thank you muchly, and I hope you enjoy :)

Thane Cullen Ar Eydis O Lionhold Magicsbane of the Red Lion Hold stood at the side of the lowlanders’ road as he watched several of his men dragging a large tree across the way. He’d heard of their highways as a child, though he had to say he was disappointed with this one. The stories he’d been told had always included throngs of people, fancy clothes, carriages rushing past one another. This road looked like it hadn’t been used in years.

Perhaps it was just all the snow that kept people at bay. If he came back in the summer, maybe he’d see those old stories come to life. Not that he’d want to. He’d always been glad that his clan didn’t hold any territory adjacent to the lowlands. It meant that he only had to deal with other clans, which meant that they didn’t have to spend hours arguing over whose laws were to be abided by and in what circumstances.

It meant he didn’t have to listen to lost travelers barking ‘barbarian’ at him in their clumsy common tongue.

Yet here he was, in the fucking lowlands of all places, helping to set up for a ‘raid’.

Cullen scratched at the stubble on his chin, his frown tugging on an old scar that ran from his upper lip up toward his eye. The air was cold, the wind tugging occasionally on his longish golden curls.

This whole thing felt…wrong. Either he wasn’t being told the whole story, or there was far more at work than he or the other clan’s thane knew.

The Red Lions were assisting the Shadow Wolf clan due to a recent accord that he already hated himself for having agreed upon. He’d been hoping that most of the work would be shirked off to his men so that he’d have an excuse to withdraw from the alliance—their clans had never gotten on well together, though recent circumstances had…changed things.

The Shadow Wolves’ thane, Randolph Ar Sassa O Wolfkeep Blackwall, walked up next to him, tossing him an apple as he came to a stop. He inspected the work, nodding mostly to himself. He was a bear of a man, all dark hair and scars, with a meticulously kept beard that had most of Cullen’s clan sneering lowlander behind his back. However, Cullen had warned them against any such provocations during their little endeavor.

The two clans were getting along quite well, all things considered. There’d been one fight early on, though the mood had changed when they’d shown up to find a bunch of lowlanders dressed in stolen Avvar gear, sitting in their poorly made lowlander tents, bitching about the weather and why they had to wear things that were so ‘poorly designed for the cold’. Like it was the Avvar’s fault that half of them had donned stolen summer wear in the middle of winter.

They couldn’t even get their details right.

“You’re _certain_ this will end things?”

Thane Blackwall bit into his own apple, inspecting the frozen landscape, and then turned to point to the dozen bodies lying in the snow a few yards from the road. “They were setting up for whatever is supposed to happen. We stop it, we stop them.” He took another bite of his apple and arched his thick eyebrows. “Where do you think they get these this time of year?”

Glancing down at his own, Cullen’s frown stretched. “If the wrong carriage comes—”

“Let’s have some faith in your sister, shall we?” Thane Blackwall murmured, letting his gaze wander across the snowy expanse between the tree lines to the north and south of the road. “She spoke with our _guest,_ and they said that an ‘Avvar raid’ was scheduled for today. I, personally, would feel terrible if they didn’t get what they came for.”

“We help you with this—”

“And we’ll respect the new borders.” Thane Blackwall let out a bark of a laugh. “You have my word. Now then, let’s make this a story to remember.”


	2. A Raid to Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Avvar wait for the target of their raid, Katrina Trevelyan stumbles her way through the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the chapter title. It's terrible. Ideas for renaming are welcome; otherwise, I'll likely use really lame titles for all of them.

Cullen walked along the top of a fallen tree a few yards into the woods around the clearing where they’d set up their barricade across the road, feeling his shield lightly thud against his back with each step. The trunk trembled ever so slightly beneath his weight, though it would hold him. As he reached one end, he spun lithely and began pacing the other way, gaze flicking toward their blockade and then to the east.

Thane Blackwall was equally restless as he paced between a few frozen trees, boots crunching a worn line into the snow and his arms crossed as he peered into the distance. The entire field itself was only about two hundred yards across in any direction.

Night was falling and there had been no sign of this mysterious carriage. Each of them had brought a dozen warriors, and Cullen couldn’t help but feel that this could have easily been dealt with by the Shadow Wolves alone. The fake Avvar had been little more than common thieves, untrained and slow. He’d been surprised half of them knew which ends of their swords to hold.

He’d always heard that lowlanders were weak, but this had been downright pathetic.

The whole thing stunk of deception, and a poor one at that.

His gaze wandered down to where Thane Blackwall had stopped, leaning forward to peer out into the encroaching shadows. He was waiting for a signal from one of his scouts that whoever they were waiting for was almost there.

A puff of air plumed in front of Cullen’s face, and he scowled. No one was coming.

Part of Cullen wanted to ask if this whole expedition had been one of Mia’s brilliant ideas to bring the clans closer. Husband and brother, working together to stop the vile lowlanders from some awful scheme that as of yet, made not a fleck of sense.

“What exactly is it that these lowlanders want from you?”

Thane Blackwall’s shoulders tensed a little before he trotted over to where Cullen was still pacing. While Cullen stopped and glanced down, Thane Blackwall simply turned so that he was again facing the east. “Not a clue.”

“Then why are we here?” Cullen snapped.

“Because they want us involved,” the other thane retorted. He scratched at his neck and motioned along the road. “They’ve been hitting my hunters’ camps, stealing pieces of clothing, weapons. They even killed one of my men when they were caught.” He pointed toward the bodies that had been dragged off toward the northern tree line, waiting to be burned. They’d held off, not wanting the fire to signal whoever was coming that things might have gone sideways. “They want people to think that this, whatever _this_ is, is an Avvar raid.”

“Why?”

With a bark of a laugh, Thane Blackwall shook his head. “You really need to ask? They’re spineless. They want to do something wrong, but know that they’ll get punished. So instead, they point the blame to us and head off merrily on their way. Has to be pretty damned important for this long of a setup, though.”

Silence settled betwixt them, the shadows growing longer with each passing minute. 

“Haven’t we already stopped whatever this was? We killed the thieves.”

“ _I_ would like to know what they wanted so badly that they spent the last half of a year stealing gear from my people to get.”

Cullen’s brow shot up. He hadn’t realized the problem had been so ongoing.

“So…what? You think they wanted a shipment of something for themselves or…?”

“If I knew the details, I would tell you,” Thane Blackwall replied, a slight hint of irritation in his voice.

“Perhaps they were simple bandits, trying to strike fear into whoever might pass.”

Thane Blackwall’s expression tightened, though he merely looked toward the east again. “If that were the case, they’d have waited for summer, and they wouldn’t have been organized enough to keep stealing from me.”

“I never said they were smart bandits, and perhaps a wayward God was on their side, granting them luck,” Cullen muttered. He resumed his pacing on his tree trunk. “If I go home to find my hold raided, I’m coming for yours.”

“Be careful word doesn’t get back to Mia. She’ll be organizing raids just to get you to show your face,” Thane Blackwall called back, tapping one of his boots into the frozen ground.

“Thane Magicsbane,” a stern woman’s voice called out to Cullen before he could think of a witty retort. He paused mid-step, glancing over his shoulder to see his chief warrior stop at the base of the fallen tree. She crossed her arms as she met his gaze, back rigid, shoulders squared. A rough scar ran along her left cheek, with a fresher one scraped into the skin below her right eye. Her dark hair was cut short, and it fluttered as a cold gust of wind swept through the trees. “We are certain they are coming from the east?”

Both Cullen and his fellow thane turned to face her fully, frowns in place. Thane Blackwall answered her. “That’s what the thief said.” When neither of them seemed satisfied with his answer, he rolled his eyes. “I would assume the two of you would have more faith in one of your own. After all, it was Mia who got him to talk.”

The woman’s gaze slid toward Thane Blackwall before she returned her attention to Cullen, addressing only him. “If this is the case, we may have a complication.”

Cullen swung himself down to land beside his warrior, arching a brow as he looked westward. “What is it, Cassandra?”

“We found an old lowlander outpost a few miles down the road, and it looks like someone’s there.”

“That’s been there for ages,” Thane Blackwall interrupted, dismissing their concern. “Merchants and the like tend to stop there and rest up before making the long run through the mountain passes to the east. They won’t head this way this late.”

Though her fingers twitched toward her blade, Cassandra continued, “They are well armed, and at a glance, better trained than the fools who were here.”

“Were they camped for the night?” Thane Blackwall asked, stressing his earlier point. When Cassandra reluctantly nodded, he shrugged. “So long as we’re cleared out by morning, it shouldn’t be a problem then.”

However, Cullen was not so quick to dismiss the coincidence. While Thane Blackwall might deal with lowlanders more frequently than they did, this was already proving to be anything but ordinary. He nodded toward Cassandra, crossing his arms. “You think they’re involved?” When she shrugged, he looked back at Thane Blackwall. “Perhaps we should send a few more scouts to the west.”

“It’s really not necessary.”

“I’d rather not risk my men. There’s no honor in getting slaughtered in a lowlander’s trap.”

His fellow thane scowled, glaring down one length of the road and then the other. However, even as he considered it, one of the Shadow Wolf warriors darted up to him and pointed out toward the eastern edge of the clearing.

“They’re here.”

Cullen and Cassandra both sunk closer to the ground, moving to the nearest trees to watch as a light flickered just in the tree line at the eastern edge of the clearing. The way the road had been laid, it followed the natural contours of the land, curving sharply before entering the empty, rocky expanse, with the woods marching close on either side. By the time a carriage rounded that bend and saw their blockade, their scouts in the woods would be behind it, there to make sure they couldn’t even attempt to turn back.

Even without the scouts, though, the road wound so much that it would have been impossible for a carriage to turn around before this clearing.

In the dim light, they could barely see the shape of horseback riders coming into view. Two, then four, then six. The first ones noticed the blockade and called for the others to slow before cautiously advancing, weapons drawn. The other four riders moved forward to allow a carriage to get further into the clearing—likely so that it couldn’t be caught and ransacked in the tree line. Eight more riders followed it in, the guard moving around to encircle the carriage, heads turning constantly as they scanned the area.

Thane Blackwall swung a horn around in his hand, glancing toward Cullen as he headed a bit further into the woods to where their mounts waited. “Looks like that’s all of them. Ready to see what’s worth so much that they intended to blame us?”

…-…

_You love me, don’t you?_

Emotional blackmail was what that was.

Katrina clung to herself as her boots crunched into the snow, cursing to the Maker under her breath. Her riding leathers and leather overcoat were ripped and dirty, there would be _no_ saving this shirt, her feet and legs were sore from running, and she was fucking _cold_.

If her mother heard her right now, she would be in tears, no doubt attempting to beat her with whatever priceless trinket was at hand, crying about how such words should never leave a lady’s mouth.

However, even her mother would have probably let slip a foul word or two, if she saw Katrina’s hair.

Maker, her hair had been her pride, all long and silky, falling all the way down her back in perfect, straight locks. And now it was a wretched mass of white-blonde tangles that she was sure she’d never get out. It might not have been so bad if she hadn’t put it up right before she’d started running and then gotten it caught on every damnable branch in this forest. Well, she might have missed _one_.

At this rate, she was going to have to shave her head—and even if that was popular at the moment, she hadn’t spent years growing her hair out to chop it all off just because of some Orlesian bastard.

Indeed, she had a great many things to curse about. Though…at least the chevaliers hadn’t seemed to have found that she was missing yet. Or if they had, they were still a ways behind her. That had to count for something. When they’d locked her in the upstairs of that old watch post, they must not have known that she’d been climbing out windows since she was eight.

Before she’d left, she’d paused to eavesdrop at the base of the window—while she did her hair, actually. Despite a distinct and growing disdain for Orlais, at least the people there seemed incapable of speaking with their voices down. The sheer number of secrets she’d come across in Val Royeaux whilst pausing next to drawing room doors was ridiculous.

Though she’d wanted to listen in on all of her captors’ plans, run away to Fereldan, and then expose to the world the sordid web of lies that the Comte de Forseau was weaving, she doubted she was going to make it that far.

Most likely she was going to be eaten by a bear.

Which would be the perfect ending for this detestable day.

 _You love me, don’t you?_ Amelia had asked. Katrina could still see her twin’s face, softer, rounder features than Katrina’s twisted with trepidation, hazel eyes wide and breath held as she waited for an answer.

Of _course_ she loved her. They were sisters. Twins. Just because they were different—Amelia was older by seven minutes, and had accepted a ladylike upbringing so that she could marry well and make the family proud while Katrina had sort of put an effort in, though not enough of one for it to be counted by, well, anyone—didn’t mean that she didn’t _love_ her.  

Katrina adored her. She wished her every happiness, every smile, every hope and dream that Amelia had kept hidden for all these damnable years.

However, that hardly meant that she wanted to be fleeing for her life through a foreign countryside from soldiers sent by a man bent on ruining her entire family simply because Amelia had decided in the last days before her wedding that she would rather forsake her family name and run away.

Really?

_Really?_

Who _actually_ did that?

If the matter had just been handled properly, all of this could have been avoided. Amelia could have been more forward about her feelings. Katrina would have happily stood with her against their parents, demanding her sister’s freedom to do as she pleased. Their brothers would have likely defended her, too…or at least Clarence would have.

Clarence…

Katrina bit her lip, brow dipping low over her eyes as she glared ahead. Everything was spiraling into the void.

So many things should have been done differently. Their father could have properly vetted Amelia’s fiancé. If he’d even given the man more than a halfhearted glance, he would have seen him for the sociopath he was.

In fairness, it seemed that most nobility in Orlais suffered some level of sociopathy, so the Comte de Forseau was hardly special in that regard. Still. Blame was to be had by _someone_. If not her father, then perhaps simply Orlais. What decent country claimed a game of murder, intrigue, and financially and socially ruining one another as their favorite pastime?

At least in Starkhaven the nobles had been more upfront about their vindictive tendencies. In Starkhaven, if you pissed off another noble house, they sent the Chantry after you. Those sisters could beat the sin out of a demon with a mere look of disappointment. And the prince… Maker, he could be a scary sort. So nice, yet so, so, so cold.

Now was hardly the time to concern herself with Starkhaven politics.

If she could just get into Fereldan territory, maybe she could claim asylum. Maybe she could find a nice little boat captain to take her back across the Waking Sea to her beloved Free Marches.

She’d cycled through so many maybes in the past several hours, and none of them did anything to help her situation at present.

A noise echoed through the woods, drawing her out of her thoughts, and she ducked to the ground, eyes wide. As her fingers splayed into the snow to support her weight, she had to bite back a hiss. The snowflakes felt like little needles stabbing into her skin. Why couldn’t she have worn gloves?

And honestly, it wasn’t like ducking would actually help. She was wearing fucking green in the middle of winter. It was a dark green, and with night falling, it likely looked gray or black in the poor lighting, but…still. She should have worn something more blasé.

Though, if she’d known she was going to be running for her life through the woods, she likely would have concerned herself with making a few _other_ choices differently that didn’t involve attire.

It hardly mattered anyway, in the long run. She doubted bears would care what color her clothes were as they ate her.

Such a vile day.

Year, really, though this particular day—really it was more of the accumulation of the last week that made this day all the worse—had easily put the rest of the events leading up to this moment to shame.

And it had all started with those abominable words.

_You love me, don’t you?_

At the moment, she’d be hard pressed to say yes…

As she listened, waiting to hear what direction her doom was coming from, the noise sounded again, and she felt like someone had sucker punched her in the gut.

It wasn’t a bear.

Well, not unless they sounded almost exactly like horses.

Had the chevaliers been toying with her all this time? Was she already circled? The sound was coming from up ahead, and she almost tried a different direction. However, she couldn’t say what stopped her, really, but _something_ did. Perhaps she was just coming to terms with her fate. Perhaps she just thought that being stabbed by chevaliers was better than starving to death in the woods or, again, bears.

Indeed, it would be better to face her captors with a modicum of pride—one might assume that, as disheveled as she was, trying to present oneself with dignity would be impossible, but, as her mother always said, Katrina was excellent at standing proud when she oughtn’t to.

And so she stayed her course, heading toward those soft whinnies and an occasional shuffle of hooves.

As she drew closer to the sounds, she couldn’t help wondering if perhaps she’d finally cursed enough times in the Maker’s name that he’d noticed and decided to pay her a bit of attention.

She could see a horse through the trees. One with reins and a saddle. And, most importantly of all, no rider.

Part of her mind screamed that this was a trap. That part quickly lost out to the part that was tired of being cold and miserable and on foot. She crept forward, each crunch of her boots making her cringe. What if the owner of the horse was nearby and heard her? What if this was some poor innocent traveler, who needed that horse?

Granted, this was the backwoods of Orlais, the edge of the Frostback Mountains. Anyone in this area was likely here for something very illegal.

As she drew closer, that beautiful hope that had dared to bubble up inside of her began to run dry. There were two horses, and what looked like a dozen or more tents. She didn’t bother counting in the dimming light. Even as she wondered if it would be better to run the other way after all—with enough adrenaline in her system, maybe she could take on a bear or two—she realized that the camp was silent.

All but one of the fires had been doused, and that one was near the center of the cluster of tents. Huddling near a tree, she had to fight the urge to get close enough to feel the gentle aura of warmth from those dancing flames.

After all, she doubted the two gentlemen seated beside it would be interested in company…and if they were, it probably wouldn’t be the kind she’d want to offer.

Maker, they didn’t seem to want each other’s company, either.

They sat on opposite sides of the fire, pretending the other didn’t exist. One of them was fiddling with a knife and a block of wood, and the other was eating an apple—and seeming to enjoy it a great deal, as though he weren’t accustomed to such treats at this time of year.

Both of their faces twisted into scowls every time they looked up, however, and she had to wonder why anyone would leave two people who so clearly despised one another alone to…guard their camp, or whatever they were doing.

Past them, on the other side of the camp, she could see other horses. She could just barely make out their outlines in the growing shadows, but they didn’t seem to have any saddles on them. They also looked a bit smaller than the two she’d snuck towards, though that could have easily been a trick of the shadows.

However, the point was they had a _lot_ of horses, so surely they wouldn’t miss _one_. If she took one of the saddled ones…it would likely be missed more quickly than one of the others. Dammit.

As she debated if she ought to try a distraction to grab one of the saddled horses, or sneak around and see if the others had gear near them that she could use, the one who had been whittling rose to his feet to stretch. The other man’s head snapped up, as though he expected the first would do something heinous.

However, in that instant, Katrina felt fear curl through her as well.

Her heart sunk.

Before she’d run off into the woods, when she’d been listening to the chevaliers, one of them had been complaining about why they’d had to bring her all the way out here to kill her when they’d passed dozens of cliffs that she could have been thrown off. Another of the bastards had simply shrugged and said she was supposed to be a victim of an Avvar attack.

Why that had been so important was beyond her, but she hadn’t waited to find out.

The man standing—both now that she thought to look at their clothes—was wearing what had to be Avvar gear. All this time running through the woods and she’d gone exactly where they wanted her to be.

He was dressed in fur-lined leathers. His trousers and vest looked so warm, with extra fur on his shoulders and around his neck to keep the cold out. His gloves and boots were rougher leather, but they looked warm, too. And he had a belt with leathers that hung down in front of his groin and over his rear like a loin cloth of some kind for extra warmth.

He also had a bow and quiver resting next to where he’d been sitting, with a sword hanging from his hip.

Biting her lip, she wondered how well trained they were. If she could lure one away, maybe she could steal their weapon and…

And most likely die horribly. That was easily the stupidest idea she’d come up with yet.

Ducking as low as she could, despite the aches in her muscles that protested the constant, continuous abuse, she took a few slow steps back. She could try for one of the other horses, on the edge farthest from the guards. So long as she didn’t make any—

She stepped on a twig, and it cracked under her boot.

Truly, the Maker was a callous bastard.

She held her breath, waiting for the sounds of those two men coming to check on who had made the fucking noise. When she didn’t hear anything, she dared to lift her head a little to peek at the campfire, praying that she didn’t look up to see them staring back at her.

What she saw was so much worse.

Katrina might not have heard them, but they’d heard her. The fireside was empty.

She needed to backtrack and fast. Taking a few steps back, her gaze swept the area for any sign of either of the men. Her fingers brushed against some of the ice on a scraggly shrub poking out of the snow, but that prickle of frost hardly even registered.

It turned out that there was something colder than this atrocious weather, and that was the edge of steel suddenly pressed against the side of her neck.

Taking in a slow breath, she raised her hands up, wondering if there was even a point in surrendering.


	3. Little Bit of Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Cullen's and Thane Blackwall's warriors try to figure out what's going on with this staged raid, Katrina is brought before them with a bit of insight that may or may not be so helpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note on the cultural stuff for the Avvar: I'm mostly going off of what the wiki says, but changing the whole brevity of the marriages they have, because long term relationships work better for the story.

Cullen rubbed his temple slowly in a vain attempt to stave off the headache tightening along the back of his head, just above his neck and wrapping around to his forehead. All he’d wanted to do was reestablish the borders to his territory that had existed while his father was thane.

That was it.

Simple, easy.

He’d been willing to clash blades with the Shadow Wolves, if that was what it took. Maybe their thane would have fallen in battle, though that would have done little to actually ease his anger. Mia would not have come home to Red Lion Hold, and even if she did, having left as she had, she never would have been able to assume her rightful place as thane.

Why had she fallen in love with fucking Blackwall?

Three years ago, just before their father’s health had begun to fail, she’d _had_ to abandon their clan and run off to the Shadow Wolves, all in the name of love—some had even whispered that their father had died of a broken heart, his daughter’s betrayal too much for him. Cullen personally thought his father had been stronger than that. However, his beliefs hardly stopped the rumors, and any attempts to stem such talk only fueled them on.

Men were supposed to declare their intentions with the thanes of other clans before trying to sneak into the hold to steal a wife. A woman stolen without intent expressed to her thane could result in a blood feud. Cullen supposed that Thane Blackwall had tried to follow tradition, though his attempt had been doomed from the start, as the Red Lions and Shadow Wolves had already been on immensely poor terms for over a decade. He’d gone to their father and stated his interest in Mia. It had been laughable to all of them that someone from a clan they barely tolerated that the audacity to wish to steal _their_ next thane to be his wife. Their father had turned him away, telling him that any Shadow Wolf raid on their women would result in a brutal backlash.

And so, instead of following tradition, Mia had simply left. Until that point, none of them had realized that the two of them had been having a tryst together for almost a year. How the Shadow Wolf thane had been able to get close enough to their territory to do so had baffled Cullen, though he hadn’t bothered asking Thane Blackwall about it. He didn’t want the man to think he was genuinely interested.

Once Mia was gone, all of the responsibilities that she’d been trained for all her life had fallen to Cullen, and it had been a struggle to learn everything quick enough that—when his father did pass—he was able to stand strong and be a pillar for his people.

He was supposed to have been the clan’s chief warrior, an advisor to the thane on how to move their warriors and scouts with Mia having the final say in anything that mattered.

Instead, everything fell to him.

The surrounding clans had tested him. Every. Single. One of them.

And the Red Lions had beaten them back at every step. They’d held their lands, and impressed more than a few of their neighbors. He’d been glad to create or renew accords with most of them. However, the Shadow Wolves…

The only reason he’d gone to meet with Thane Blackwall was because of Mia. He’d wanted to look her in the eyes and damn her for every stupid thing she’d done. He wanted to curse her into the afterlife for her betrayal to her family. Branson and Rosalie missed her horribly, and he _knew_ that Rosalie had cried when she left, even if his younger sister had managed to hide her tears from him.

He’d had a speech planned, his rage focused…

And then he’d stepped into the small clearing and seen her, and remembered how much he’d missed her smile and her nagging and every little annoyance and comfort she’d ever brought into his life. She’d run up and hugged him, nearly toppling him over as Thane Blackwall and his warriors simply waited on the other side of the clearing, pretending not to see how close Cullen had been to being overcome with his own emotions.

They’d wanted peace, according to the thane and his lady. They were willing to give back some of the land that had been taken from the Red Lions, if the Red Lions would be willing to help them with something, a problem with the lowlanders.

At the time, Cullen had felt like they were making an easy bargain, hoping to try to win him over—or lull him into a false sense of security, though it was hard to think that Mia would do that to him, even if she had abandoned her clan for their enemy.

Now…now he didn’t know what to think.

If this was a trap of some sort, it had taken Thane Blackwall by surprise, too.

The guard for the carriage had been well equipped and well trained.

Both thanes had been toying with the idea of just capturing them to ask what was going on. With swords, of course. Cullen wasn’t any good with diplomacy—he’d always thought it was better to work things out with displays of force and power—and Thane Blackwall had agreed that it would likely work quite well if they encircled the carriage and its guard and forced them to lay down their weapons.

They had the numbers, after all—there had been almost twice as many Avvar as lowlanders.

What they hadn’t expected, however, was that the guards had been in on whatever this was, and had thus expected them to be the imposters, weaklings. Perhaps if they’d seen them in better lighting, they’d have reconsidered. After all, the stories said that lowlanders trembled before an Avvar in his war paint, with his weapon brandished.

In the end, only the carriage driver had surrendered, and if he knew anything, he was too distressed to speak. Aside from him, there was but one guard who had been captured, and he kept whispering a prayer, ignoring any attempts to reason with him.

Cullen had lost two of his people. Thane Blackwall had lost one. It left a sour taste in his mouth, made worse by the fact that they hadn’t been able to get any information.

The carriage was loaded with belongings, but no passengers. There were trunks and chests of paper and books, most of it written in either code or languages other than common. There was absolutely _nothing_ that they could use. That hadn’t stopped Thane Blackwall from ordering his men to start moving the loot to their camp—according to him, his augur was an odd one, with an interest in reading that might allow him to have some insight into what these wastes of trees were for.

Cullen didn’t have much faith. And even if they did get information from those books, he’d still lost two of his own who shouldn’t have been there to begin with. One of them was one of his clan’s few mages—Thane Blackwall’s loss had been the only mage he’d brought with him, as the guards had been smart enough to focus down the biggest threats before being beaten.

All of this had been a waste.

He’d lost two good warriors to _this_.

However, even as he fought the urge to break something, Cassandra thwacked Cullen on the arm and motioned toward the southern tree line.

One of the men they’d left to watch the horses and their camp—they’d left one man from each clan, so that neither could claim foul play on the other’s part if things went missing—had emerged into the clearing, riding quickly toward them. A woman was seated in front of him and it looked like…by the Mountain Father, he was holding her by the neck to keep her still. As they drew closer, he could just barely make out that she had a black eye in the dim light and dozens of cuts and tears to her clothes and skin. Her hair was a wild mess that made her almost look like a damned witch. Even so, she was clearly a lowlander. She wore leathers—with pants instead of those frilly dresses he’d always heard about—though they were thinner than anything practical for this kind of weather.

The man bringing her out—Cullen’s—had a broken nose.

Her arms were bound behind her back, and she was gagged, but that had hardly done anything to calm her spirit. Anger sparked in her eyes, and if looks could kill, she’d likely be the only one left standing.

Cullen turned his steed and a few others trotted up with him to meet them.

The one who’d brought her scanned the few who’d come toward him, eyes landing on Cullen. “I thought you might want to talk to this one.” He paused before adding, “I couldn’t quite follow what she said, but I think she knew about the raid.”

Cullen pulled his horse up beside them, inspecting her idly. Despite her anger, her figure was slight and he doubted she could take any of them in combat. He nodded for his warrior to remove her gag and addressed her in common. Despite not having the largest vocabulary, he was sure he could communicate with her easily enough. “And where did you come from?”

She scrunched her face up, lips dipping down into a sneer as she cursed them with language colorful enough that he was pretty certain the Gods were blushing. Cullen reached out easily, catching her chin firmly in his hand, pressing up a little so that her teeth clicked shut. “Enough of that. If you want to keep your tongue, choose your words with care.”

When he let her go, she shook her head, incredulous. “Is this some sick game to you? Keep my tongue?”  Despite having learned common, he’d never had to deal with the lowlander accents before, and he could see why his warrior wasn’t sure what she’d said. The way her tongue rolled the words was a little hard to follow. However, the emotions were easy enough to read on her face. “I _know_ what your orders are.”

She tried to kick him, despite being straddled on the other horse. Her captor jerked on her bound arms to straighten her up so that she couldn’t move around as easily, and she snapped her head back, trying to hit him in the face. The man hissed a few curses under his breath.

Arching his brow, Cullen looked her over again. The saying was that lowlander women were trouble, though he’d always assumed it was because they were high maintenance, not just impossible to control.

“Well?” she snapped, enough venom in her voice to down a horse. “What are you waiting for? Just _do_ it, you cowards.”

Cullen shifted in his saddle, crossing his arms as all that rage contorted her face into a most wicked scowl. As he watched her, Thane Blackwall walked up beside his steed so that he could stand just between the horses and inspect her as well. Thane Blackwall cocked his head. “Just what are we supposed to do?”

The strangled scream she let out was unearthly. She nearly toppled Cullen’s man from his seat as she whipped her other leg up and over the horse’s neck—using said man to support her weight to even do so—and aimed a sharp kick for Thane Blackwall’s head.

With a laugh, the Shadow Wolf caught her leg at her knee and jerked hard, nearly dragging her off the horse. He caught her other leg before she could try to kick him again, and, with one fluid motion, tucked both of them beneath one arm as he stepped close enough that Cullen’s man could drag her back into a sitting position on the horse.

The warrior gave Cullen an incredulous look as he held the woman more firmly in place.

Not bothering to hide his smirk, Cullen leaned forward in his saddle and motioned to Thane Blackwall. “The man asked you a question.”

“He’s not going to pay you, you know,” she hissed. When Cullen narrowed his eyes, she shook her head. “ _You’re_ just another loose end, the whole lot of you, and once the chevaliers get here, you’ll regret _every_ miserable choice you ever made that led you to this place.”

“Sounds like someone’s talking from experience,” Thane Blackwall offered, grinning when she tried to knee him.

Cullen, however, had lost some of his humor. “You said chevaliers are coming?” He paused, remembering Cassandra’s earlier report. “From the west?”

The look she gave him… he’d never seen condescension, disgust, arrogance, and disbelief tied so perfectly together before. “No. They’re coming back from a vacation in Fereldan.”

“How many?”

She scoffed. “Raiding’s not so much fun when _you’re_ not the ones meant to win, is it?”

Thane Blackwall’s eyes widened as he turned to Cullen, speaking in Avvar. “That’s why the impersonators were so much weaker than the guards. They didn’t need _them_ , just their bodies.”

Slowly running his tongue over his back teeth, Cullen eyed her before switching back to common. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”

“Well, it’s not like I have battle plans on me,” she muttered, though her anger had seemed to subside at least a little. She glanced from Cullen to Thane Blackwall and back. When she spoke again, it was slower, barely calmer. “This isn’t meant to be a successful raid. The point of this charade is that the chevaliers are going to ride in and defeat the terrible barbarians, only too late to save the poor lady from their vicious, unscrupulous ways.”

“So the whole point of _all_ of this,” Thane Blackwall clarified, pointing at her with his free hand, “is to kill you?”

“I don’t know if that’s the _whole_ point of it, but _I’m_ not out here for tea and pastries.” She hesitated. “I don’t know how many there are. Maybe twenty? Maybe more, maybe less. There were only five when they caught me yesterday morning, but there were quite a few already at the outpost when we got there today.”

“If they’re after her,” Cullen murmured, speaking Avvar, “then they’re likely in your woods, and probably won’t leave until they get her.”

“No,” Cassandra interrupted. She was on her horse as well, her sword drawn. “They’re here.”

Turning toward the west, Cullen frowned as he saw horseback riders entering the far side of the field in twos. Their armor glinted in the moonlight, their forms dark against the snow.

Thane Blackwall glanced around to see who was still there. Half his men were gone with those damned trunks. “If there’s twenty, they outnumber us.” He scowled. “Chevaliers are well trained.” With a shake of his head, he dropped the lowlander woman’s legs and jogged over to his horse, pausing to catch one of his men and pointing toward the eastern tree line, speaking quietly. The man nodded and grabbed a horse, riding into the woods. Cullen barely saw him cut south as soon as he was in the shadows before he was gone from sight.

Good, at least they’d have the missing few coming up as a second wave—even if they would be tired.

Without pausing, the Shadow Wolves’ thane called to his warrior guarding their other two prisoners. With a nod, she slit the guard’s throat and then moved to the other man—it wouldn’t do to have them get loose and assist with the Avvar’s enemies. He tried to stand up, starting to scream something. He didn’t even make it through the first word before he was falling to the ground as well.

However, the noise did catch the attention of the chevaliers.

One of the men rode a bit ahead of the others, stopping short of the group when he could comfortably call out to them. He leaned forward in his seat, his face covered by a half mask. His head turned slowly as he inspected those of them present in the dim light and then, abruptly, he sat back, laughing. “Is that… It is! Lady Trevelyan. You just love helping us out, don’t you? If we’d known you were going to come here yourself, we wouldn’t have wasted time searching for you.”

“Die in a fire,” she hissed back, recoiling at the man’s attention.

“Well, even if I do, you won’t be there to see it.” Turning toward the others, he signaled one, who sounded a horn of some kind, no doubt for any of their fellow knights still scouring the woods for the woman. He finally turned to address the Avvar, “Is there a reason she isn’t dead, yet?”

Thane Blackwall rode up beside Cullen, glancing over at him, bushy brow quirked. They looked back at the chevalier, and both rested their hands on their weapons at the same time.

“What has she done?” Cullen called out.

“You’re not paid to care about that, gentlemen,” the chevalier said, however, even as he spoke, he paused, tensing ever so slightly. His head turned as he looked over the scene again. Cullen could just barely make out a frown beneath the man’s mask, his painted lips looking ghoulish in the darkness. “Where’s Rodrin?”

Without need of direction, all of their warriors had already found their way back to their mounts, though they waited to sling themselves back up, not wanting to draw too much attention to any preparations, should they be unnecessary.

“Dead,” Thane Blackwall replied, calm. “The fighting was a little much for him.”

“That accent… Andraste’s flaming ass, you’re _real_ Avvar.” Even as both thanes readied their weapons, the chevalier drew his blade, the steel gleaming in the moonlight. “Attack!”

…-…

The carriage door slammed shut behind Katrina as her captor threw her into it and then joined the fray. Battle cries and the sound of metal clashing against metal sounded all around her, muted somewhat by the thin wooden walls trapping her.

Or where they supposed to be protecting her?

At this point, she was too confused and tired and cold to care. During her little conversation with the Avvar, she’d been slowly working on the hastily tied bindings that kept her wrists behind her back. She’d finally managed to loosen them enough that she could—with a great amount of pain—twist her hands down and straighten her arms behind her. She winced at the pressure it was putting on her wrists, but clenched her teeth as she pulled her legs up, and slipped her arms under her, so that she could see the knots.

Maker, they were complicated. If he’d been able to do this in a few seconds, she hated to think of the sorts of things he could do with rope in his leisure. She tried to gnaw on one of the ties, but quickly gave up on that. The rope was too thick, and it tasted awful.

At least her shoulders weren’t so tense with her hands in front of her, though…her fingers were looking terrible. She’d been so busy being horridly cold and miserably afraid that she hadn’t thought to actually check herself over. Maker, if she didn’t find somewhere warm, soon, she might lose one.

Surely it wasn’t actually that bad… her city-dwelling, northern self was likely just overreacting, even if it was getting harder and harder to bend her numb appendages.

As she stuck her tongue out, trying to let the freezing air claim that despicable tang from the rope, she looked around the carriage’s cabin. Of course there wasn’t anything sharp in here with her. That would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

Even as she mentally groused at her abominable luck, someone slammed into the side of the carriage with a cry, a bit of blood dripping down from the top of the window, where they’d hit their head.

She waited a moment to see if they would get up before carefully sliding over to the door and testing it. It swung open, though she caught it before it could go too far. The man who had crashed into the carriage was a chevalier. To be fair, it wouldn’t have made much of a difference _which_ side he was from, as both were entrenched in the plot to murder her, but the Avvar had seemed ignorant of just _what_ part they were to play, so—since it had to be someone—she was glad it was one of the Orlesian bastards.

After a quick glance around to make sure no one was concerning themselves with the assassination mark, she cautiously grabbed his sword from his still hand and slipped back into the privacy of the carriage.

Holding the hilt as best she could with her boots, she rubbed the ropes against the sharpened edge of the blade until they finally gave way, only nicking her wrists twice. She shoved the ropes off of her and gripped the saber, finally turning her attention to the fighting outside.

It was still going on in earnest, though there were quite a few additional bodies scattered around than when she’d first been toted out like a new toy. Her left eye hurt from where her kidnapper had punched her, but she couldn’t help but feel a smug sense of superiority. After all, she’d broken _his_ nose.

It was his fault for thinking he could put his sword up and just drag her off somewhere without a fight. Her victory was somewhat diminished by the horrid ache spreading through the back of her head, but such was the price of humiliating one of her would-be murderers.

She’d figured that if they were going to kill her, she was going to give bitter memories to as many of them as she could. She might not know how to shoot a bow or drive a sword home, but they would bear scars for the rest of their lives to remind them of their abhorrent actions.

At least, that had been her train of thought when she’d been captured and dragged off.

However, as she’d talked to those vile men, it had occurred to her that they weren’t being nearly as, well, murderous as she’d expected them to be. They were arrogant pricks, sure, and yes, there _were_ corpses everywhere, but she hadn’t counted among them.

That had been rather odd, all things considered. It was almost as though they hadn’t known they were _supposed_ to be killing her.

Something about this whole matter was off, though she couldn’t for the life of her place it.

It was something she would worry about later, when she had plenty of miles between herself and this debauchery.

Almost everyone was off their horses now, locked in combat, killing one another, blood soaking into the ground and staining the snow in dark swatches.

Glancing out the window, she carefully opened the door on the side that had fewer fighters and slipped out. She couldn’t even hear her boots crunch into the snow, with all the commotion about.

Finally, she was stumbling into a little bit of luck.

She inspected the battlefield and let her gaze wander east. There, just shy of the tree line, was a very lovely mare of some kind, rider-less and saddled. It would do nicely.

Katrina made sure that everyone was too busy killing each other to notice her one last time and then bolted toward the horse.

 _Maker, I will never curse or swear again if you let me get out of here_ , she thought as loudly as she could, repeating it over and over like a mantra as she ducked past two men crashing to the ground, their weapons missing. The Avvar was winning that match with his large hands clamped down around his enemy’s neck. The chevalier clawed uselessly against his shoulders, hands not quite reaching where he needed them.

She kept going.

Someone grabbed her arm. Katrina whirled around with her blade raised, slashing blindly. Both she and the chevalier gave each other startled looks as he reached up to hold his neck, blood spurting between his fingers.

As he crumpled to the ground, she ignored the pang of terror in her gut and picked up her speed. If he’d noticed her, others might.

She reached the horse, fingers digging clumsily into the worn leather saddle—the saddle had the same insignia on it as the carriage—and scrambled into the seat, smacking its rear to get it running before she’d even completely settled in.

She tangled the reins around her hands as she made it around a steep curve in the road—nearly going off and into the underbrush—and rode on.

Let her assassins kill each other. She was going to Fereldan.


	4. A Moonlit Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the fighting continues--seemingly never ending--Cullen heads after a few chevaliers who attempt to flee the field, only to find they weren't quite as cowardly as he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the feedback and the kudos!
> 
> There's some violence throughout this chapter, but aside from that, it should be safe for work.
> 
> There's some art added here as well, thanks to 0wallie0, over on tumblr! You should check out her art at walliesfreckles.tumblr.com.

Things could be worse…

After all, the fourth wave of lowlanders—additional chevaliers who had been called out of the woods by that damned horn—had only totaled in about six, and assuming there wasn’t a fifth or sixth wave of lowlanders en route, the Avvar might still win this.

Cullen gutted the chevalier in front of him, forcing his blade up just below the bottom of the breastplate and into the man’s ribcage. As he withdrew his sword with a jerk, he turned to scan the clearing. Despite the numbers, the fighting seemed to be going in the Avvar’s favor.

He couldn’t help the small swell of pride that brought him.

As he looked for his next adversary—most of the chevaliers were already engaged with one or more Avvar at this point—he saw something that replaced his pride with fury.

Two of the chevaliers had mounted up and were riding off, trying to escape. The Gods would forsake all the clans before Cullen let that happen.

He whistled for his steed, already running toward the east. The stallion, Gunvor, navigated the edge of the battlefield, meeting him at the road. In a flash, they were racing after the cowards. He wasn’t about to let any of those deceptive bastards get away, not when his people were dying because of them.

In truth, they were dying because of Cullen, because he’d been so selfish that he’d come to terms with the fucking Shadow Wolves, just to appease his sister. His sister who had _betrayed_ his clan. It should have been Thane Blackwall and his clan alone out here, dying for this pointless, twisted lowlander mess.

Gunvor took the swerves in the road with ease, practically flying across the frozen terrain. Cullen caught a glimpse of the chevaliers ahead before another turn in the road left trees blocking his view. The next time he caught a glimpse, he was closer.

He lowered himself further on his steed. He _wouldn’t_ let them escape.

However, the next turn led to a rather long, straight stretch of road, and Cullen could see that the chevaliers weren’t fleeing at all. They were _chasing_ the lowlander woman.

He’d told Jim—his real name was Jari Ar Thora O Lionhold, but thanks to an old accident and a long story involving proving games from years ago, everyone just called him Jim—to put the woman in the carriage, figuring that would be the safest place for her. He hadn’t wanted to spare anyone to have to watch her when they were outnumbered.

While he hadn’t wanted to watch her, he’d had to admit that she’d known the most about what was going on out of anyone, and Cullen had a feeling that she’d be more cooperative with them after they saved her. Thane Blackwall had overheard the order and simply grunted his approval—unlike the guard and driver, they doubted she’d be inclined to join their enemies in the fight, considering the chevaliers were there to kill her.

None of them had expected her to escape in the middle of the battle.

Weren’t lowlander women supposed to be squeamish and prone to fainting at the mere thought of blood or something ridiculous like that?

The ground was clear, for the stretch, so Cullen kicked Gunvor into a faster run. As he closed the gap between them, one of the chevaliers noticed him coming up and dropped back. The knight was on the offensive as soon as he reached him. Cullen blocked the man’s first attack and then slammed his shield into his face. The helmet crunched, and the chevalier cried out as he nearly tumbled off his steed. As he clung to it, Cullen managed a quick jab with his blade through a gap in his armor under his arm. The man fell off his steed and rolled across the snow before lying still, his blood soiling the pristine white.

Looking ahead, Cullen saw the other chevalier’s charger had caught up to the mare the woman was riding. He swung at her with his blade, and she almost fell off the horse as she dodged to the side. She jerked back on her reins to drop behind him, and her mount panicked, rearing up and tripping on a rut in the ground, throwing her from its back.

The chevalier turned his steed, slowing it down. He had just started to swing his leg over the charger’s back when he noticed the Avvar advancing on them. With a curse, he slipped his foot back into his stirrup and charged toward Cullen.

They each readied their blades. And then, as the yards closed in, Cullen abruptly shifted his grip and threw his, catching the man in the throat. The chevalier let out a startled gurgle as he fell from his steed, the horse continuing on past Cullen.

He didn’t bother to retrieve his weapon just yet, instead heading after the woman. She’d managed to get to her feet, though she was favoring one of her legs. The sword she’d stolen had been thrown further than she had, and she limped after it, struggling to pick up her pace when she saw Cullen advancing toward her.

While he could have easily just ridden up and grabbed her as she limped along, he had a feeling that she’d likely dive down, only making her injuries worse. That would probably lessen her desire to assist them.

He let Gunvor slow and leapt off the horse, his swift strides easily closing the gap between the two of them. She reached the saber just before he reached her, spinning around on unsteady legs and pointing it at him. Her hands shook, her grip clumsy.

Low clouds had been blocking the second moon earlier, but as they disappeared, the two moons managed to push back the darkness, albeit barely, giving him a better view of her.

“Put it down,” he instructed, his voice a bit harsher than he’d intended.

She did not.

Instead, she tried to take a few steps backwards, though her injured leg nearly gave out underneath her. She had to stop. Blood trickled down one side of her face from where she must have hit her head when she fell.

He held his hands up, palms toward her. “Put it down.” When she still held her ground, he arched his eyebrows, turning slightly and taking a step that took him just barely closer. “If you do not, I will take it. That will hurt.”

Her breathing was heavy as she watched him, gaze flitting toward the road, then him, the woods, then him again.

“I can out run you.”

“Just let me go.” She tried to limp back another step as he slowly came closer, in range that if she tried to lunge forward, she’d probably be able to get in a glancing blow before he disarmed her. He doubted she could with her leg as it was, but he’d already underestimated her once.

“Say I do,” Cullen offered, stopping in his tracks. He motioned toward the road. Her horse had managed to survive its tumble unharmed and had run off. “You have no horse. You cannot walk. You have no food and no water.” Frustration was twisting her features, tears glistening on her eyelashes in the moonlight as he pointed out every flaw in her plan. “If you want me to let you go, I might as well just kill you now.”

She raised the sword a bit higher, that angry glare sweeping back into place. The tremors in her hands lessened, ever so slightly.

“If you want to kill me, you can work for it.”

By the Mountain Father.

For a split instant, he believed that she actually could take him in a fight. There was a gleam in her eyes, a fire burning brilliantly, that dared him to even take a breath without fear for repercussion. Even with all her cuts and bruises, with blood matting some of her wild hair and leaving her face sticky and her clothes stained, she stood tall, strong and unyielding.

It was beautiful.

He stood there, mystified for a moment. Then, a slight tremor in her leg sent shivers through her, and the spell was broken. She maintained her balance, her glare, but he could see it for the façade it was. She was, after all, a mortal woman, injured and cold and desperate. That fire in her might be willing to fight on into eternity, but her body wouldn’t be able to keep up.

Already, it was failing her, and that thought terrified him in a way he couldn’t explain.

He resumed his slow steps toward the side. “But I don’t.” He paused before adding, “Want to kill you. I just want to talk.”

With a scoff, she turned a little, trying to keep him in front of her. “You expect me to believe…you’re just some woodland hero…in the right place at the right time?”

By the Gods, he didn’t want her to die. She was already so pale, her voice wavering and cracking, her lips shivering so badly it made her accent all the worse.

She had the answers he needed, or so he told himself. The least that he could do for his fallen warriors was get what they’d come out for. With a shrug, he caught her fiery gaze and held it as he continued to circle her so very slowly. “It was an odd path that led me here.”

She took in a few deep breaths, trying to keep her balance as she turned after him again. “I think I have you beat.”

He kept pacing to the side, shrugging again as he watched her. This time, she turned a bit too quickly, and she hissed in pain as she agitated her leg.

That was all he needed. Darting forward, he gripped her right wrist—it seemed to be her dominant hand—and squeezed just hard enough to force her to drop the blade. At the same time, he swung around behind her, bringing his other arm up beneath hers to draw her to him and pin her folded arms against her chest as the sword fell from her grip. As it thudded into the snow, she let out a shriek, trying to kick at him with her good leg, only to have to put it back down so that her weight didn’t rest on her injured one.

…-…

Katrina had been caught. Again. That was what, three times in one day? Or was it more? It was hard to remember…hard to think about anything for too long…

She’d managed to outrun the occasional city guard or disreputable kidnapper in Starkhaven for twenty some years and now… It had to be that despicable cold. It was in her too deeply, and it made her slow.

Even so, she wasn’t going to give up without a damned fight.

The Avvar man who’d threatened to cut out her tongue held her against his chest, her arms locked against her. Her hip hurt so fucking much that it made her legs useless. She couldn’t put her weight on it or use it, and she needed her good leg to keep her weight off the injured one. She tried to feel for a weakness in his grasp, a strained muscle she could possibly hit just right to make him let her go.

Hit him. Ha. With what? Her wit? That was about all she had left at this point, and even that was numbed by the cold.

Or perhaps it was just that immensely annoying dull pulse in her head. Each time it thumped, the world seemed to either slip in or out of focus, and it was getting even harder to concentrate.

“Enough, woman!” He barked in her ear, his other arm coming around to reinforce his hold on her. “There is no point in fighting.”

Her breath came in exhausted gasps, and she felt dizzy. It took too much effort to respond. She tried to shoulder him, though that barely did anything other than make her hip hurt more from her twisting.

“I already have you.” He spoke carefully, seemingly unfamiliar with the common tongue. “Just stop.”

She tried to shift in his grasp, and he simply tightened his grip on her. It wasn’t enough to hurt, just enough to let her know she wasn’t going to be slipping free.

If she could just get in one good kick… Just one…

It wouldn’t do her any good.

Even if she _could_ get in a good kick to his manhood, she wouldn’t be able to get away. She could barely make out the world in front of her anymore—there seemed to be red dripping down from the sky to her left, though that didn’t make any sense. The thumping near her temple continued.

There was one horse. She could guess whose. Even if it was poorly trained, with her hip, and the way the world didn’t want to stay in focus, she doubted she could get on it, let alone ride it for however long she’d need to get to Fereldan.

Without any food or water.

Maker, this was a mess.

There had to be something…anything…

It couldn’t end like…this.

But then, what had she expected to happen? Clarence likely hadn’t received her warning in time. And even if he had…

Abruptly, she slumped back against the Avvar man, letting her head bow forward in defeat.

She’d lost.

Of course she’d lost. The game had never been something she’d understood, never been something she _should_ have been involved with.

“I won’t hurt you. You have my word. We want…the one who set up the raid, not you.”

Even as Katrina mentally sent accolades to the Orlesian bastards who had invented the Grand Game, his words somehow managed to make it through the fog beginning to settle over everything, and she slowly lifted her head. “You…are after the Comte?”

“If he is the one who tried to blame us for this raid, then yes.”

Disbelieving, she let out a half laugh, though it rocked her world a bit more than it should have, and the ensuing dizziness spiraled out of control so that the whole world seemed to buck and reel. As it calmed down, she found her voice again. “Blame you…for a raid you did.”

“We were not supposed to show up,” he whispered in her ear. Slowly, he loosened his grip on her, slipping around to stand beside her, one arm against her back, holding her to him so that she either couldn’t run or couldn’t fall. Perhaps both.

“I…you’re not making any sense.” Katrina reached up to hold her head, frowning when her fingers came away wet and red. “Am I…bleeding?”

He didn’t say anything to that, but instead stepped in front of her a little, his chest filling her blurry vision as he moved awkwardly. Slowly, she thought to look to where his hands were, and frowned when she saw he had taken off one glove and was removing the other. Even as something tried—somewhat unsuccessfully—to scream in the back of her head that something bad was about to happen, he stepped back to her side, carefully helping her to put his gloves onto her hands.

They were so _warm_.

Her brother, Gregory, had always groused that her affections were too easily bought, but even now she was inclined to disagree. After all, it didn’t mean anything that she already wanted to hug the man who, only moments ago, she’d been seeking to make sure he’d never have any children.

There was nothing wrong with a bit of gratitude.

The heat from his skin remained in those blessed leather garments, making them feel a little like tiny ovens wrapped around her. She closed her eyes, willing that heat to fill her veins, to ease the pain in her hip, and to make her head stop throbbing.

“Where is your leg hurt?”

The words echoed in the darkness behind her eyelids, and she thought to respond, to tell him it was her hip, but her voice died before it reached her lips. She realized too late that she’d let her focus stray too much, that she wasn’t sure she _could_ open her eyes. Somehow, with her eyes closed, everything still reeled, and even with memories of Gregory telling her to be more careful and worries for Clarence trying to force her to keep moving, she just…couldn’t.

She let herself fall into the dark, cold abyss that had replaced the icy forest around that detestable road, feeling something warm press against her face—or was her face pressed against it?—before everything finally faded away.


	5. Homeward Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the raid finally over, the Avvar head back into the Wilds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fighting's finally over, so it's back to definitely being safe for work.

It had taken two days to prepare the Avvar’s dead for sky burials, and to gather weapons and other personal effects to be returned to the fallen’s families. Between the two clans, they’d lost almost half of their people—all three of their mages had been felled, forcing them to rely on poultices and potions for healing, which put a their few injured at risk.

Because of their heavy losses, the Avvar had left the lowlanders’ horses in the wilds. Originally, before they’d known how many lowlanders would be involved, they’d planned to return with a few of the stronger steeds. By the end of it, even if they’d wanted to take them, they hadn’t the resources or manpower to take care of so many beasts.

They were now en route to Shadow Wolf Keep, though the trip was proving to be a slow and miserable one. They were three nights into their journey, and they’d barely made a dent in their travels. They’d lost too many and gained too little for anyone to feel that victory songs were in order, and Thane Blackwall had spent the first two evenings speaking with one or two of his people in low voices, not including Cullen in whatever their plans were. They had managed to capture one of the chevaliers, at least, and to find what Thane Blackwall said looked like orders of some kind on the captain of the chevaliers’ body, though none of them had been able to read enough of it to figure out what it meant. The Shadow Wolves’ had already started questioning their prisoner, but it was abundantly clear that he didn’t know what was going on. The captain might have, but not this simple knight.

At this point, the Shadow wolves were just keeping the chevalier alive long enough that they would be able to get him to their hold. Their augur was a necromancer, according to Thane Blackwall, and would be able to extract any important details that the chevalier sought to withhold from them after he expired.

Raising the dead didn’t sit well with Cullen. While he didn’t mind some magic, certain things—like necromancy—just felt like it went too far. Even if they did need information, it was better to let the dead rest, rather than risk angering the Gods by playing with their corpses.

If they could have just caught the captain, Cullen was sure they would have already been able to get the answers they were after—Thane Blackwall would have known who was setting up his clan, and Cullen could have found out why the lowlander woman was supposed to die. However, the man had, upon seeing he would be captured, slit his own throat rather than be taken alive. Cullen had pointed out that they could have brought his body back for the necromancer, if he was able to obtain information from the dead, but Thane Blackwall had just shook his head. The body would have decomposed too much by the time they reached the keep, and the soul would have been gone too long for the memories to have stayed.

That was why it had become so important to keep the prisoners alive.

Prisoners…

That Thane Blackwall and his wolves insisted on using plural did not sit well with Cullen. A lot of things the Shadow Wolves did didn’t sit well with him, though he’d yet to have a chance to really talk to Thane Blackwall about any of it.

Cassandra had suggested to Cullen after the second night on the road that they not linger in the other clan’s keep once they arrived. She and several of the others—of the thirteen of them, only eight Red Lions remained—wished to simply keep a steady course home. It had taken a little over two weeks to get to the raid site, and it would be even longer to get home, with their few injured. That was far too long for both the thane and chief warrior to be gone.

It didn’t help that most of Cullen’s people wondered if they wouldn’t be turned on once they reached the Shadow Wolves’ hold. Cullen was sure they wouldn’t be—Thane Blackwall had promised his augur would heal them, in thanks for their assistance, if they went back with them—but the others had less faith in the Shadow Wolves, and in Mia. After all—as Cassandra pointed out—she’d already abandoned them once, and a woman’s allegiance was to her hold, not to her kin.

While Cullen understood their concerns, he couldn’t bring himself to okay the split from the group. The Shadow Wolves were fewer in number—there were only six of them left—and Cullen thought it would be better if they helped the other clan with their horses and belongings—and those damnable trunks.

At least until others from their hold reached them. They’d sent someone ahead to get help, and were expecting that they’d be meeting said assistance well before they reached the hold.

Earlier that night, Cassandra had pulled Cullen aside to ask if he was truly sticking around for the Shadow Wolves, or if he had other motivations. Even as he’d dismissed the notion, he’d known exactly what she meant.

The lowlander woman had been a pain to bring along to most—Cullen had had to bicker and argue with Thane Blackwall just to get them to bring her, much less tend to her many injuries. She’d yet to regain consciousness since the night of the raid, and Cullen knew that at this point, all the healer was trying to do was to make sure she made it to the hold alive. They were planning on giving her over to the necromancer as well.

She’d fought so fucking hard. She would have fought him to her dying breath if he hadn’t told her they might have the same enemy.

Her frame was slender, but she had the heart of a warrior.

And she’d fought so, so, so…

He tended to her at night, after everyone save whoever was stuck with the night watch had gone to bed. He knew that they had probably mentioned him heading into the lowlander’s tent to the others, but no one had come to him yet, imploring him not to waste his energies on her. The Shadow Wolves might have picked a fight with him on the matter, except that he used his people’s salves and poultices, so that they couldn’t claim he was wasting _their_ resources.

It surprised him how much he wanted to see her open her eyes again. He’d sit next to her after tending to her injuries, watching the way her chest fell in such shallow, painful breaths, and wishing that he could do anything to ease her pain. He’d run his fingers against her cheeks a few times, resting his hands there to let their warmth sink in. He’d thought she looked better for it, though it could have just been his ill-fated hopes.

Tonight, though…

He’d slipped into her tent after everyone was asleep, only to find Cassandra already there, brushing out the tangles in the lowlander’s hair in silence. As he entered, Cassandra merely glanced up and then bowed her head to him. “Thane.”

He stood there, stooped just inside the tent, not sure what to do.

Finally, Cassandra sighed, “I thought this might ease any headaches, or just be soothing in her dreams.”

With a grunt, Cullen sat down next to her, gaze resting on the lowlander. Her wounds weren’t getting better, but they weren’t getting worse either. He supposed that in itself was a small miracle. Perhaps the Gods were deciding what to do with her, same as the Avvar.

Her bandages had already been changed, and fresh salves applied.

“Am I so obvious?” Cullen asked as he looked up to see Cassandra’s disapproving frown.

“Only to those with eyes,” Cassandra replied, sitting back and stretching her fingers. As she did so, she nodded with her chin toward the lowlander. “What is it about this woman that has you so enamored? As I recall, she wasn’t the most impressive creature.”

“She has a common enemy with us,” Cullen shrugged, shifting a little as Cassandra narrowed her eyes, studying him.

“My thane… Cullen. I could use help with this rat’s nest. You used to brush Rosalie’s hair, did you not?” Quietly, Cullen moved around until he was sitting beside Cassandra at the lowlander’s head, legs crossed. He found a second brush there, waiting for him. Cassandra sighed and resumed brushing out the knots in the lowlander’s white-blonde hair. It was longer than Cullen had realized and damp with sweat. “What you meant to say was that she has a common enemy with the Shadow Wolves.”

“Who we are working with.”

“For the raid,” Cassandra corrected, “and to help them get their prizes back to their hold.”

“Thane Blackwall has offered to gift us other trinkets from previous raids,” Cullen said slowly. It had been the last thing he and his fellow thane had actually talked about, before the two clans had seemed to split, merely tolerating each other’s company for the trek home. “…Since he believes those books may be important to unraveling whatever mysteries still lie around this raid.”

Cassandra was the one to grunt this time. “Honestly?”

“What?”

“I do not think the clan will be happy if we come back with leftovers that the Shadow Wolves did not want. It would be better to tell them that everything in the carriage was useless, or to try to negotiate for a few of the empty trunks instead.”

Cullen frowned. “We’re getting four of them. Thane Blackwall said we could fill them with what we wanted—cloths, leathers, anything from their stores, so long as it is within reason.”

“Good,” Cassandra murmured, a flicker of a smile gracing her stern features for just a second. “I was worried you were too smitten to think of the clan. Forgive me.”

“I’m not smitten,” Cullen grumbled, leaning forward a little to work on a rather large tangle.

Rolling her eyes, Cassandra nodded. “Of course. Because you always sneak around camps to gaze longingly at nameless women.”

“I’m not—”

“And glance over your shoulder while riding to make sure that same stranger is being tended to. And tend to her yourself in the dark hours. And—”

“Enough,” Cullen snapped, though when he glanced at Cassandra, he noticed a small quirk in her lips that wouldn’t be held down. “I’m not smitten.”

“As you say.”

“You could at least say that like you believe me.” Cullen let his gaze wander to the lowlander’s face. Her brow twitched together a moment, as though she could feel him watching her, though a soft groan followed, and her face relaxed again. “Do you think she’ll live?”

“Why are you so infatuated with her?”

“She’s not…” Cullen shook his head slowly, gaze never leaving the lowlander’s sallow face, the circles around her eyes dark and thick, her black eye a smear against what might have been pretty features. “You were not a part of the clan when my mother was alive, but she was star struck with lowlander culture. She used to collect books and little things from their world. My father even got her a ball gown once.” He smiled faintly. “She used to tell us these ridiculous stories about all the things that lowlanders did. They were mostly just reinforcements behind those stereotypes we have for them. But she had reasons for them, too. Reasons that often didn’t make any sense to us, but were fun to hear none-the-less.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, like the lowlander women didn’t fight because they were supposed to be strictly homemakers, and they were required to study cooking and cleaning above swordplay and strategy. That sort of thing.” He nudged Cassandra with an elbow. “They’d have stuck you in one of their frilly dresses.” When she scoffed, he grinned, though it faded quickly. He shrugged a little, reaching out to brush some of the lowlander’s hair from her face with his fingers. “Yet this woman…she’s…not like the stories at all.”

Cassandra lifted one of the woman’s thin arms. “She looks frail enough to me. Though…she did have quite a mouth on her.” She smirked. “I could barely understand half of what she said, just that she was _very_ angry.”

“She stood against me,” Cullen couldn’t help as his smile returned. “With these injuries, she stood against me, ready to fight to the end.”

“Plenty of others have challenged you, Cullen,” Cassandra reminded him, setting the woman’s arm back beneath the furs so that she wouldn’t be cold.

With a faint smirk that tugged on his scar, Cullen shook his head. “They challenged me because they knew I wasn’t meant to be thane, because they assumed I was weak. They did it with fair confidence that they might win.” He ran his fingers over her hair before beginning to brush it again. “It wasn’t the same with her. She didn’t care who I was. She fought because she wouldn’t be caged.”

“I think you are reading too much into her actions,” Cassandra stated, moving on to the next lock of hair. “You are building her into some fierce beast in your head, and if she wakes up, you will be quite disappointed with the reality of who she is.”

Cullen recognized that Cassandra was simply concerned for him, but it didn’t dull her words any. Typically, he appreciated her input. She was one of the few he trusted unconditionally. She was the only one—aside from Branson and Rosalie—who was always honest with him, who never bit back her opinion just because he outranked her.

He often thanked the Gods that his augur had taken her for a wife, for his life would have been so much less without her there to stand by him, shoulder to shoulder.

However, on this matter…

She hadn’t seen what he’d seen.

They spent the rest of their time there in silence, finally getting the last of the twists and tangles out of the lowlander’s hair and braiding it down one of her shoulders. Cassandra left first, finally breaking their silence to tell him he should get more sleep than he was allowing himself.

When she was gone, he stared down at the lowlander for another moment before starting after his chief warrior. He paused as he stepped around the woman, leaning down to whisper, “Please don’t die,” and praying to the Gods that he wouldn’t dream of her death.

Sleep would not come so easily to him.

As he slipped back through the camp, he was surprised to find Thane Blackwall waiting for him near his tent. His fellow thane motioned toward the woods, asking him to step just outside of their camp to talk in private.

“So it looks like you were right,” Thane Blackwall finally offered when they were far enough away that those on watch wouldn’t overhear them, arms crossed, head bowed forward ever so slightly, his gaze on Cullen. “The woman is our best bet, assuming my augur can’t read the books.” He paused before adding, “And even then, talking to her will likely take less time than flipping through all those wastes of trees.”

Cullen nodded, not sure what he was expected to say to that.

Thane Blackwall had not wanted to bring the lowlander woman with them at all when Cullen had first brought her back—by the time he’d returned to that miserable clearing, the fighting had ended. Their captured chevalier said the woman was wanted for attempted murder—he’d later confessed that he didn’t know if that was true, only that she’d gotten in someone’s way, and they wanted her gone. When they’d burned all their enemies’ bodies, they’d left her cloak—overcoat according to Thane Blackwall—with the bodies, to make it look like she was among them so that they wouldn’t have more lowlanders roaming the woods to either finish or save her.

“The chevalier won’t give us the name of whoever he’s working for,” Thane Blackwall began.

Cullen perked up a little, motioning over his shoulder toward the camp, toward the woman. “She said something about…Comte?”

“That’s a title, not a name. Though if she knows the title, she probably knows the name.” With a shrug, Thane Blackwall shrugged. “The chevalier doesn’t know why she had to die in an Avvar attack. He might keep some things from us, but I believe him when he says he doesn’t know about that part. Here’s hoping she does.”

“Hopefully,” Cullen murmured, not seeing the point to their conversation. While he was glad that Thane Blackwall had finally decided to include him in whatever was going on again, he wasn’t sure that there was really a point at the moment.

“We were threatened with being drawn into Orlesian politics, too,” Thane Blackwall added, a rueful grin spreading across his lips, barely visible behind his beard. “Though, if they’re trying to pin things on us, I’d say we’re already in them.”

Cullen nodded his head once, biting the inside of his cheek. He had a strange feeling he wasn’t going to like where this was going. “You know, if you think she’ll be so useful, you should probably be tending to her with more care.”

With a laugh, Thane Blackwall moved a step closer, reaching out and patting Cullen’s shoulder. “Why? We only need the prisoners to reach the hold. My augur can deal with her after that.”

“Well, she’s not really our prisoner,” Cullen objected, remembering his promise. He’d assured her he wouldn’t let any harm come to her.

Before Cullen could voice that, another bark of a laugh escaped Thane Blackwall. He patted Cullen’s shoulder again and headed back into the camp. “You’re right; she’s not _our_ prisoner. She’s mine.”

…-…

Katrina’s dreams were wild and confusing, punctuated with flares of pain and a murmur of voices that made no sense.

At some times, she was fleeing through an endless woods, branches taking on human-like hands to claw at her desperately, tugging her backwards, twisting in her hair and jerking her scalp. They stung her arms, face, and neck, and no matter where she turned, the trees looked exactly alike. Even when she stood still, the wind whipped the branches into her, twigs raking across her every which way.

Then the hellish nightmare would subside. Instead, she would hear voices murmuring in the background, or horses clopping along quietly.

She would open her eyes and be sitting in her family’s drawing room, with her brothers and parents talking on the other side of the room about things that bored her immensely. Politics. She’d catch Clarence’s eye as their oldest brother, Gregory, continued to explain to him the finer points of whatever political mishap had happened most recently. When Gregory turned to talk to their father, Clarence would grin and hold whatever he had near him—quill, letter opener, stick—in his hand and then point it toward her, mouthing ‘en garde’.

Katrina would find something—usually a hair clip—and hold it up in return, and they would silently duel across the room until Gregory turned back. Then both of them would hide their weapons. Clarence would lean into his hand, fingers curled against his chin, as though he had been listening the whole time. Katrina would do her best to find something to have been busy with, though Gregory knew she’d been up to something unbecoming of a lady.

He and her parents would sigh, frowns etched into their features as though they were statues, incapable of giving her a smile.

Sometimes, Amelia was there, sitting next to her and quietly cheering during their pretend sparring as Clarence feigned injury. She always rooted for Katrina.

Other times, Michael, their youngest sibling, was there as well, sneaking behind the furniture to grab Gregory as he tried to write some important letter. Gregory would jump from his seat, cursing and glaring, trying in vain to grip their younger brother and shake some sense into him. Michael would always run to Katrina and use her as a shield, despite her protests that she was the worst person to choose for such a thing.

She’d laugh at Gregory’s scowl, telling Michael to apologize as he leaned against her, his chin on her shoulder.

Then, the dream would twist again.

Suddenly it wasn’t Michael behind her, but someone else, muscular arms gripping her as snow flooded the study, burying everything she was familiar with. She’d scream as her parents and siblings disappeared beneath the flurry of white, but they would simply sit there, continuing their conversations, not noticing as she vanished from their world.

She’d try to move against those wretched arms, feeling her breath catch in her chest, but the cold made it so hard to do anything. As he held her, knights in gleaming armor would march forward, blades drawn. Her sister’s betrothed led them with that detestable, hateful look plastered to his face.

He would stop short, one eye vanishing as he watched the knights march on, sabers angled toward her. She clawed at the arms holding her, begging him to just let her go. Let her run.

And then, as the blades slashed at her hip and head, the world would fade away again, and she’d be curled in a cave with bears. Despite being sure they would eat her, they’d simply draped themselves over her, nuzzling their fur against her skin, grumbling slightly with words that sounded more human than growl.

Sometimes the bears would sit around her, growling quietly at one another in that same, almost human speech. She would try to understand what they were saying, to see if it was a language she knew, but it always eluded her. Their numbers varied, though it was generally only one or two near her.

Once, she heard an oddly accented voice whisper through all of it, “Please don’t die.”

For a moment, memories started to line up, a clearing in a snowy woods appeared, with horses and swords and shouts and bodies. Pain exploded from every inch of her and—

And then it faded away into one of the other dreams, the pains that came with those memories pushing her back under, letting her rest mercifully instead of facing those horrid aches and sharp stabs of agony.

Still, as she slipped away, she had to wonder who would plea with her so sincerely before she was swept up in another dream that had come to meet her.


	6. Shadow Wolf Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siblings reunite, in reality and dreams.

The healing tonics were helping.

Cullen was sure of that, though, how much they were helping was still to be determined. The lowlander woman’s black eye had begun to fade, and many of her smaller scrapes were disappearing, too. However, with all the travel, Cassandra was not optimistic that the woman’s hip was going to heal correctly. They’d done their best to set it before they’d started moving, but there was no way to avoid jarring her occasionally. Cullen had persuaded the Shadow Wolves’ healer to take a look at it, but they’d simply said that they’d probably need magic to make sure she could ever walk normally again.

Thane Blackwall had mentioned that their augur, while a necromancer, did know one or two healing spells—rather he’d assured them that if the augur could be found in time, he would meet them and heal them before turning his attentions to their prisoners. He’d also said the man would likely bitch to no end about having to waste his magic healing when there were other more apt mage healers at the keep, but Thane Blackwall had assured everyone he _would_ do what was required of him.

His priorities, however, would be the prisoners, particularly whichever one was worse off, leaving their current healer to tend to the other until he was done with the first.

It had occurred to Cullen before this that perhaps if they could get the lowlander woman healthy enough, then the healer and augur might take her wellbeing more seriously.

Now, Cullen was sure that they just needed to make sure she was better off than the chevalier. They were about two days out from the hold, so the augur was likely waiting for them there. If the chevalier was in worse condition, the augur was likely to kill and raise him first for information. While that went on, perhaps Cullen could persuade Mia to help him recruit one of their healers to help the lowlander.

Surely, once she was better, they wouldn’t just snuff her out.

That night, after they’d made camp for the evening, Cullen had explained everything to Cassandra, wanting her input.

“You want—in two or three days—to somehow miraculously heal the woman on the brink of death to the point that she is healthier than a man who can ride a horse and talk coherently.”

That had been all she’d bothered to say. It had been all she’d needed to say, really.

In truth, it had been impractical for Cullen to get so ridiculously attached to the lowlander woman, like he had. Cassandra was right. He didn’t know anything about her…and what he’d seen… Maybe it hadn’t been what it had seemed.

He was thane. He had his responsibilities to his clan, to his people. Even if she wasn’t dying, she was the Shadow Wolves’. Be it prisoner or guest, she would have ended up staying with them, as she was somehow entrenched in the problems surrounding their clan. He couldn’t afford to waste his time and resources and affections on some foreign woman doomed to die in another clan’s land.

He didn’t even know her name.

Despite telling himself this, despite knowing that it was pointless to be curious about her, he still found his mind wandering towards her. Whenever he found himself glancing back her way, he would ride over to one of his people, discussing what sort of preparations would be needed to get back to their territory.

Thane Blackwall insisted that the Red Lions come stay at the Wolves’ keep for a few days so that they could rest their weary souls and give their wounded time to regain their energy after being healed. Despite the unease in his people, Cullen finally agreed on staying three days. Thane Blackwall told him Mia would be thrilled, and Cullen hadn’t known how to react to that.

It was rather obvious, though, that that had been part of Thane Blackwall’s plan. He did seem devoted to his wife. The few times Cullen had seen them together before, Thane Blackwall had seemed ready to give Mia the world, if she so asked for it.

He was fortunate Cullen’s sister was so practical, or Thane Blackwall would have ended up a broken man.

The next two days passed slowly. Well, the days themselves weren’t so bad, but the nights… By the Gods, it was like time stopped. Cullen would lie awake, trying to focus on his responsibilities. When he got back he would need to check on food stocks, see that the hunters were doing their jobs instead of slacking off, make sure that their boundaries hadn’t been tested by other clans while he was away, and….

And on and on and on. At some point, the tasks would simply repeat themselves, a never ending spiral.

Inevitably, his mind would wander to her, and then he would go over his plan to talk with Mia. Thane Blackwall hadn’t exactly seemed disinterested in talking about sparing the woman, but…on the one occasion Cullen had tried to discuss her fate since being told she was not his to protect, Thane Blackwall had been a bit too interested in why Cullen cared so much.

If he couldn’t even explain it to Cassandra, there was little point in trying with Thane Blackwall.

Mia was really his only option.

When they finally reached the Shadow Wolves’ keep, Cullen and Cassandra were offered rooms of honor within the hold, though he was reluctant to let his people be separated—Thane Blackwall assured him the other six of his warriors would be housed nearby, but he still didn’t feel right splitting up. Despite everything, there was still a lot of bad blood between the two clans—something rather evident as they’d walked into the keep with the others. There were so many dark glares and suspicious whispers.

“Let us hope they do not decide to assassinate you,” Cassandra muttered in his ear as they found their ways to their rooms after they finally decided that rejecting the Wolves’ hospitality would make more trouble than not. Without waiting for an answer, she’d disappeared behind the curtain leading into her room. He’d stared after her a moment before echoing the action, feeling as though a proper bed would be a wonderful change from sleeping in a tent.

It was too early to sleep, though, and likely too dangerous to wander the keep.

And besides all that, he needed to speak with—

Arms were abruptly around his neck, dragging him backwards and choking him.

“You came back!” Mia’s voice rung in his ears. He managed to untangle himself from her before she could strangle him. As he turned around, carefully rubbing his throat, Mia rolled her amber eyes, hands resting on her hips. “Please. Like you couldn’t have tossed me over your shoulder if you wanted.”

“I don’t think the pack you run with would appreciate me throwing their Lady into a wall,” Cullen offered, shaking his head when Mia scowled at him and punched his arm. “I’m here to be abused for three days. Use them well.”

“Oh, I plan to,” she smirked. Her dark blonde hair fell to her shoulders in curls that were looser than Cullen’s. “You and Cassandra and the others will have dinner in our hall tonight. That should make it clear to everyone to leave you all alone while you’re here.”

“Good,” Cullen nodded. He hesitated before looking her over carefully. “You know…they won’t all be happy to talk with you. It’ll likely be the same as when we came up.”

When they’d reached the Shadow Wolves’ hold before, they’d been there a few days to plan for their sabotage of the attempted raid, and most of his people had simply ignored Mia all together, unless she took the most direct approach, calling them by name and asking them a question.

Even then, they’d answered as quickly as possible before finding a reason to be elsewhere. If she’d run off to the Silver Fennec or the Spindle Web clans—or any of the other dozen of clans they occasionally met with—there likely would have been jokes and mild chiding before everyone accepted her role within the other clan and chose to continue to hold her like a distant cousin.

However, having gone to their enemy had left far more members of his clan with grudges than he would have thought. It hurt her, he was sure, though she held her head high, allowing for everyone save Cullen to keep their distance.

She would not lose her brother.

Though…she was expected to choose her clan over her kin. All brides were.

That thought made Cullen a little uneasy as Mia straightened his leathers, mouth twisted to one side as she clucked at him, insisting that he keep his gear looking proper, especially as thane.

At that, he lightly caught her hands, and pulled them away from him. “I handle myself just fine, Mia.”

“I wasn’t trying to…” she trailed off, scowling. “You know, the Shadow Wolves really aren’t so bad. I think we could just get past everything, if we tried.”

“Just get past it?” Cullen’s voice dropped slightly. He managed to bite back an angry rant, instead simply drawing in a deep breath and holding it. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Mia had crossed her arms, glaring toward one of the walls.

“Fine. No peace talks,” she paused, turning to eye him with a critical look. “For now.”

“We’ve been working together, haven’t we?” Cullen grumbled, taking a seat on the bed that had been made up for him.

Mia plopped down beside him, uninvited. “It’s a start. But if we really want to move on, we need to address what happened twenty years ago.”

“And I won’t do that without my augur, skald, and master of the hunt present,” Cullen replied. “If you wish to address things, we can…set something up. It won’t happen while I’m here now, though.”

“Then let’s set something up,” Mia insisted. “You’ll need to get home, and probably spend some time managing your hold…” She drummed her fingers against her knees, doing the math in her head. “What about the end of spring, just before it gets too hot for long trips? That gives both clans time to accept peace talks are happening, and to really decide on what needs to be said to get everything into the open.”

“Why do I feel that you already know exactly what you plan to say?” Cullen asked, rubbing his face with both hands. He was suddenly so tired.

“Cullen, we could do so much if our clans worked together.”

“And _we_ could have done a great deal together if you hadn’t left us,” Cullen muttered, before he could stop himself.

Mia flinched at that, though a brief frown was all that dawdled. After a short pause, she finally shrugged. “Blackwall is a good man, and he should have been given a chance to prove himself when he asked for me. You’d see that if you weren’t so blinded by the stories you’ve been told.”

“Save it for the end of spring.” Cullen ran his fingers through his hair and then lightly shoved her.

While he’d expected her to be annoyed, she’d caught his last comment, and instead a flicker of hope lingered in her eyes as she watched him.

Silence settled between them, nothing else to be said by either for the time being, at least in regards to their clans.

Cullen tried to think of how to bring up the lowlander, abruptly feeling a little awkward. Mia picked at her nail, without paying any real mind to it. “So how’re Branson and Rosalie?”

“I haven’t seen them since you asked me last, so I wouldn’t know,” Cullen replied, not meaning to sound as harsh as he did. He coughed into his hand. “I assume things are going well, though. I hope.”

“Right.” Mia murmured. She’d begun to drum her fingers again. “So I heard you handled yourself well during the raid.”

“I’m still breathing.”

“They said you took down six chevaliers total, plus a handful of others before that.”

“I wasn’t counting.” He eyed his sister, trying to steel himself. When they were growing up, she’d always made a point of teasing him whenever she so much as thought he might have an interest in anyone. However, she’d always listened when he dared to bare his soul—much the way Cassandra did now—and she’d always been there to watch out for him.

Of course, that had been before…

“I wanted to talk to you about something important,” he began, still not sure how best to breach the subject.

Crossing her arms, Mia inspected him for a moment before inching closer. “Is it the prisoner you’re so infatuated with?”

“I’m not…” Cullen hesitated. “I just don’t think she deserves to die.”

With a low hmmm thrumming in her throat, Mia swung her foot up and down slowly so that her boot made a soft thudding noise as her heel hit the ground. “Why?”

“Because…she’s…” He’d meant to give some quick explanation, to think of a word or two that would make sense. But this was Mia. Instead, he regaled her with the events that had led up to the lowlander’s ‘capture’, and how he couldn’t get her out of his head.

Mia stopped thumping her boot on the floor after listening to the story, weighing the options. “If you want, I can go talk to the augur. Dorian’s always been a friend. He was going to wait to deal with them until tomorrow, anyway.” If necromancy bothered Mia any, she hid it well. Hopping to her feet, she smiled down at him and nodded with her head. “Come with me. He was going to flip through some of the books before the feast to get an idea of what we’re looking at.”

As Cullen followed her out, his brow twitched together. “I thought you were going to deal with the lowlanders _before_ falling back on the books.”

“Oh, Dorian loves to read,” Mia offered, a smirk in place when she looked back at Cullen. “You’d think he was a lowlander himself, the way he covets any and all of the silly tomes we come across.”

The walk was rather short. There were two main halls leading away from the thane’s throne room, one to his personal quarters and guest quarters, and one to what Cullen assumed was reserved for spoils from raids. As they started down the second hall, Thane Blackwall’s voice interrupted them.

“Mia, love.” Even as Cullen turned, his fellow thane was there with them, arms curling around Mia as they practically melted into one another. Mia giggled like a little girl as he nuzzled her nose with his, looping her arms around his neck and catching his lips with hers in a rather passionate kiss.

Cullen crossed his arms and glanced down the hall and then around the throne room. It was rather spacious, with a large, wooden throne between the two halls’ entrances, directly across from the main entrance to the building. Theirs was a less permanent hall than the Red Lions’. Cullen’s hold was nestled against some cliffs, with two caves. One was large and winding, which had been converted into an armory and provisions area—it was hard for raiders to get to, which helped immensely. The other was smaller, but had a perfect, Gods’ made seat at the back—a proper throne, his father had always said. It was no wonder that his ancestors had made it the throne room, with the thane’s lodging built a short walk away, just up a small incline and against the cliffs.

As he glanced at his sister and her husband to see that they were still quite involved with one another, he couldn’t help but note that the Red Lions’ hold was better. He peered around the throne room one more time before coughing into one of his hands rather loudly.

With a soft, ‘Oh,’ Mia pulled away a little, cheeks flushed, though he doubted that was from embarrassment. She stayed entwined in Thane Blackwall’s arms, looking up at him as he quirked a bushy eyebrow.

He addressed Cullen, his voice a bit warmer than Cullen had ever heard it. “If you wanted to look at your take, you should probably wait to see how much room will be in the trunks. I don’t know that we’ve finished emptying them.”

“We were going to talk to Dorian, actually,” Mia interceded. “I think I agree with my brother. We should at least try to talk to the lowlander woman before giving up on her.”

“I’m sorry to say, but I believe it’s a bit late for that,” Thane Blackwall said, his voice dropping slightly. “He’s already working with them.”

“But he said he was going to wait until tomorrow,” Mia argued, distraught as she straightened up a little in her lover’s arms.

With a sigh, Thane Blackwall shook his head. “You know he works in time constraints. When he heard the lowlander’s health was failing, he had to get started early.”

“When was he called?” Cullen demanded, forgetting that he wasn’t in his own hold.

Though Thane Blackwall seemed irate by Cullen’s tone, he simply shrugged. “Not too long ago, but—”

“We can stop him,” Cullen insisted, already starting toward the exit. He paused when he remembered he wouldn’t know where to go. As he looked back, Mia was already dragging her husband after him. “At your leave, thane.”

Thane Blackwall let out a bark of a laugh and shook his head as he picked up his pace to stride to and past Cullen, Mia following on his heels. “You know you can’t claim her, seeing as your man, Jim or whatever his name was, caught her first.”

“I never said I was going to,” Cullen muttered, matching the thane’s stride so that they were almost even, giving Thane Blackwall just a breath of a lead.

Though the Wolves’ thane shook his head, he didn’t say anything else. Cullen could feel Mia’s gaze from behind him, making the hairs on the back of his neck raise, though he kept his gate confident, head high. He ignored the looks the other Avvar gave him, the way their gazes went from warm to cold as they looked from their leaders to him.

He felt the augur’s hut well before they turned the bend in the path to see it. He’d always been able to sense magic well, part of what had led to his legend-mark. The Gods were stirring, likely talking to the augur himself. That almost made his steps falter.

After all, he would never interrupt his own augur. Whatever the Gods were saying might be far more important than…whatever it was Cullen was trying to do.

Be the woodlands hero she’d called him?

As they drew closer, the sense of magic in the air disappeared abruptly. Just before they reached the door, it swung open. A man with a swarthy complexion stepped out into the light, frown somehow emphasized by the moustache on his upper lip, ending on either side in a slight, stylized twirl of his whiskers. The Shadow Wolves seemed to have a thing for lowlander beard styles. As soon as he was outside, he stepped to the side, allowing another person to follow.

Cullen nearly tripped when he realized it was Cassandra. She bowed her head to him, and then stood up straighter when she saw both thanes were approaching.

Thane Blackwall stopped just in front of them, eyes narrowed. “I thought you were called here for one of the lowlanders.”

Lightly tugging on a leather glove, the augur—Dorian arched his brow, letting out an indignant huff. “I was.”

Thane Blackwall’s gaze darted to Cullen and then back. “So why is there a Red Lion with you?”

“I was lost,” Cassandra replied. She’d never been one to let another answer on her behalf. “I wanted to check on our people, and must have taken a wrong turn. I did not wish to seem like I was scouting your hold, so when I found your augur, I asked for help. Dorian was kind enough to let me stay with him, even when he was called to tend to the prisoner.”

“As she says,” Dorian nodded. He paused, glancing at Cullen and then bowing, “Dorian Ar Aquinea O Wolfkeep Corpseflame. I assume you’re Thane Magicsbane, as you look so much like your lovely sister.” He gave Mia a quick smile before looking back at Thane Blackwall, temporarily forgetting Cullen. “I’m afraid the chevalier has expired.”

A silence settled over the five of them for a short spell.

Crossing his arms, Thane Blackwall shifted his weight. “The chevalier? Not the woman?”

“That is what I said.”

“How?”

“As you know, I was looking through our precious bounty recovered from the raid,” Dorian replied, sarcastically, “By the way those books are in atrocious condition. Half of them have their leather bindings coming up at the corners. It is a travesty that such works be treated so—”

“Are they worth a great deal?” Thane Blackwall interrupted.

“Not that I could tell, though I’m not exactly an expert on what lowlanders value in their literature. I think they’re nature journals of some kind. The one I flipped through talked about migratory patterns of falcons, I think it was, and what have you—”

“If they don’t matter, I don’t care how they were treated,” Thane Blackwall snapped. He pointed toward Dorian’s hut. “What happened with the chevalier?”

“Right, right. Well, he was tied up quite well, and the guards were outside the hut rather than in it and... It’s a pity, but he must have tried to get out of his bindings while I was gone. All that wriggling about and he pulled open an injury that wasn’t tended to as well as previously thought,” Dorian shrugged. “He bled out before I could return.”

“I see.” Thane Blackwall tilted his head to one side, inspecting both Dorian and Cassandra. “Which injury?”

“One on his side,” Dorian crossed his arms. “It was tended to only superficially. Likely in poor lighting it would have looked fine; I heard you only tended to him at night.” Abruptly he paused and let his gaze wander toward Cullen. “Or was that the _other_ thane with the _other_ prisoner? Tch,” he shook his head. “With all the stories going around, it’s so hard to keep track.”

Mia took this opportunity to step up beside her husband, and motioned toward the Augur’s hut. “How _is_ the woman?”

“He’s got you on his side already, hasn’t he?” Dorian asked, smirk widening as he looked from her to Cullen and back. However, even as Thane Blackwall took a step closer to him, motioning for him to talk, he sighed. “She already holds one of the Lady’s hands. Even with a healer mending her body, she may be too far gone. A mind can only take so much abuse before it gives up.”

“But you can heal her?” Cullen asked, standing a little taller.

Dorian’s brown eyes brimmed with amusement, making the skin around the corners of his eyes crinkle with delight. “It’s true then. The great thane of the Red Lions fell for the first lowla—”

“Dorian,” Mia lightly clasped his arm. “Enough.”

“If I may,” Cassandra offered, even as Thane Blackwall opened his mouth to speak, “My thane believed that the woman would be cooperative, so if she was healed, could she not prove more useful alive than if she were dead?” She paused, motioning toward Dorian. “Perhaps she will be persuaded with a bit of benevolence…if she is not already willing to aid you.”

Rather than answer right away, Thane Blackwall stared at Cassandra and then turned slowly to Cullen, his bushy brows raised. He started to say something, but Mia lightly gripped his arm, leaning up and whispering something in his ear.  He let out a dry, humorless laugh before reaching out and clapping a hand down on Dorian’s shoulder. “Let’s step inside a moment, shall we?”

As Cullen and the others entered into the hut—it was large enough for them, with ample room for a fire pit in the center of the main room—Thane Blackwall turned to eye him and Cassandra. “Dorian, how likely is it that the chevalier was helped along with his injuries?”

“I’m sorry,” Dorian gave his thane an annoyed look, “I was under the impression that I played with dead things, not healed living ones. Animating a corpse and knowing which piece of muscle attaches where are a bit different, my dear thane. I don’t generally care _how_ they die, so long as their vocal cords are intact.” He paused, swelling with a bit of pride as he glanced at Cassandra and Cullen. “It makes it easier for the Gods to talk through the body.”

Cassandra and Cullen exchanged a look.

“I just find it odd that the man who was doing so well would simply keel over right around the time that one of the Lions was wandering loose through our hold.”

With a shrug, Dorian made a flourished motion toward the back room. “There could very well have been foul play, but it would have _had_ to have happened before you reached the keep. Our guards would not have simply let someone in with our prisoners.”

Thane Blackwall turned to eye Cullen, gaze narrowed. “How’d you do it, then?”

“Excuse me?”

“I overheard you talking with your chief warrior here. Make sure the lowlander woman is healthier than the chevalier, buy her time and get her healed.” He tilted his head back, appraising Cullen with a most suspicious light in his eyes. “I’d say she’s healthier than a dead man, wouldn’t you?”

“I…” Cullen frowned. His intent had been to heal the woman, not hurt the man. Though, in retrospect, causing harm to the chevalier would have likely been easier…

“My thane had nothing to do with what happened to the chevalier,” Cassandra insisted. “And, before you can ask, neither did I.”

“Love,” Mia whispered, wrapping her arms around one of Thane Blackwall’s. “I know the warriors Cullen brought with him. There’s no way any of them could have snuck through the keep, past the guards, injured the chevalier enough that it could be excused as an accident, and then snuck back out.”

Even as another brief silence fell over them, Cassandra finally spoke up. “My thane mentioned once that he thought the lowlander woman was watched over by a God. Perhaps he is right. The Gods work in strange ways, do they not?”

“Hmm.” Thane Blackwall twisted his mouth to one side, considering it. “I suppose nothing is impossible.”

“None of the Gods who have spoken to me mentioned favoring her,” Dorian said, glancing toward one of three small doors leading from the main room. It was blocked with a curtain hanging across it, and Cullen wondered if that was where they’d taken the woman. “I would imagine a mortal’s champion would wish to make themselves known as quickly as possible, so that no mistakes could be made on our part.”

“You could ask them for a sign,” Cullen offered, shifting his weight a little.

“Could I?” With a scowl, Dorian put a hand over his heart. “Thank the Lady you are here to tell me such things, Thane Magicsbane. For surely, I would have no idea, otherwise.”

Catching Dorian by the shoulder, Thane Blackwall stopped him before he could continue his rant. “Thane Magicsbane has been a great help this last week, and were it not for his agreement to come with us, there’s a decent chance we’d have lost to those chevaliers. If he wants a sign from the Gods, let’s ask them to give us one.”

As the augur mumbled something under his breath, Cullen happened to glance to the side to see the curtain leading to one of the two backrooms from the main part of the hut had moved, ever so slightly. He was quite certain he’d seen the heel of a boot or shoe of some kind disappear from view into the room, and, without thinking, he followed after. When he reached the curtain, he moved it ever so slightly, pausing when he saw the lowlander woman was laid out on a cot, her breathing shallow, still gaunt and pale.

No one else was there.

“Cullen?” Mia whispered beside him.

He frowned, letting the curtain drop back into place as he turned to her and the others. “I’m sorry. I thought…it’s nothing.”

Thane Blackwall led them from the augur’s hut so that Dorian could commune in peace, and as they headed back to their quarters, Cullen couldn’t help but offer a quick prayer that whatever God was watching over her make its will known.

…-…

It was during one of her long dreams with those bears that Katrina turned her head to the side to see Amelia lying with her, hands resting on her belly, rosy cheeks a shade darker from the faint, numbing chill of the air.

Of the two of them, Amelia had always been just a hair heavier than Katrina, though she’d worn it well. She’d always had a thing for sweets. It gave her a beautiful form, swells in all the right places. Katrina was more willowy, too busy climbing out windows and running to ever let her food settle onto her frame.

Amelia reached out and brushed a finger along Katrina’s hairline, pausing to draw her finger in a line extending a little onto Katrina’s forehead. The pain that had been there, ever present and nagging, flared for just a second before numbing back to a dull throb. So many little aches and pains did that, occasionally flaring up. However, if Katrina tried to think on where they came from or how she’d gotten them, she was typically overwhelmed. “ _You’re a mess, as usual_.”

Katrina rolled her eyes, reaching up and catching Amelia’s hand. She held it, her fingers curled around her twin’s. “ _And you’re perfect, as usual_.”

“ _Not perfect_ ,” Amelia argued. She pouted her lower lip, scrunching her nose up as though to diminish her appearance. “ _After all, I don’t have all those freckles_.” She pulled her hand free and lightly flicked Katrina’s nose. “ _Now those are pretty. The mark of one courted by the sun_.”

“ _A pity the sun isn’t a suitable husband_ ,” Katrina quipped. “ _Or I might actually be worth something_.”

“ _You’re worth everything_.”

“ _Not according to mother._ ” Katrina laughed. “ _I’m the bane of the household_.”

“ _Well, I can’t argue that_.”

With a sigh, Katrina turned to stare up. The cave rocks were fading away, and the bears had shed their fur on top of her and left.

“ _Though I think Michael may have you beat once he grows up_.” Amelia sat up, running her fingers through her hair and patting her dress back into place.

Katrina tried to reach out to her, but she was suddenly too far away. “ _I miss you_.”

“ _I know_ ,” Amelia said, “ _I miss you, too_.” As she spoke, she let her hands drop to her lap. There was a tinge of sadness in her voice. “ _I…I just had to be free. You understand, right_?”

“ _Of course I do_.”

Amelia hunched forward, hands scrunching up the fabric of her skirts. The cave was gone, and they were in their manor’s backyard, standing beside the gate. Without thinking, Katrina went to pick the lock as Amelia kept talking. “ _Because I…_.” She stepped through the open gate, out onto an eerily quiet street, and looked back at Katrina, expression desperate, a light in her eyes that had haunted Katrina for just over a year. “ _I just need to go for a walk to clear my head. Please let me go. You love me, don’t you_?”

“ _I suppose even a princess needs to walk off her stress once in a while, though, with the way you are, I doubt you’ll be able to walk far enough to shake it all off in a year, let alone an evening,”_ Katrina had said as she left the gate open and headed back inside.

 ** _Careless selfishness. How foolish to think this was worth my time._** A harsh voice echoed from somewhere beyond her world.

Katrina stopped. She wasn’t in her manor’s backyard anymore. Now, she was in Amelia’s room. She’d tugged loose an old board from the corner. The diaries that had been hidden behind it now littered the bed. Letters and notes poked out from them, some looking older than she was, though they couldn’t be. She picked one up, knowing exactly what she’d find inside.

**_What is this?_ **

“It’s proof,” Katrina murmured, flipping through the pages until she came to one of the letters. “Proof of what a bastard the Comte is. She was going to expose him, but he…he out maneuvered her…or something. She had no choice, but to run. She’s gone, but she can come back.” Katrina began to gather all of the journals, careful to keep them in order, despite feeling sure she’d done this before. “I just have to pick up where she left off. I’ll show the empress what a monster he is. They’ll lock him away, and then Amelia will be free to come home.”

Something about her plan felt off. As though it had already failed.

**_If you seek the empress, then why are you in the woods?_ **

“In the woods?” Katrina frowned. She hugged the diaries she’d been holding to herself, looking around in confusion. Who was there? There hadn’t been anyone when she’d found the notebooks… “I’m here because…”

The world shifted again. She stood near a wall of her father’s study, arms empty. In front of her, she could see herself holding those very books she’d just had, all but shoving them into her father’s arms as the flames from his fireplace next to his desk cast eerie shadows across everything.

“ _She left because of this_!” Katrina’s past self cried, shaking the books and then dropping all but one, flipping it to a page and pointing desperately. “ _He was a monster! He was going to keep her from us, from everything she loved, just because she found out the truth about him. He wasn’t going to just let her go. He was going to make her suffer, like a caged animal, every day for the rest of her life_!”

“ _Your sister abandoned the family because she was weak_ ,” her father snapped, kicking one of the diaries into the fire. He nearly kicked Katrina as she dove down to protect the rest of them, barely managing to stop short. “ _We are not going toe to toe with the Comte_.”

“ _Why not_?” she’d demanded. “ _You read his letters_!” She’d pointed to the desk. “ _You have to know exactly what kind of a man he is_!”

“ _It’s because I know that we’re not getting involved_!” he hissed. “ _He’s powerful, with more connections than we could dream of having, especially with_ —”

Katrina stared at the scene. It had frozen there, the color slowly bleeding out, leaving only shades of gray behind. She could feel someone standing beside her, and her shoulders slumped as she finished her father’s sentiment. “Especially with me around to burn so many bridges.”

Her father moved in time with her words, and she could see herself cringe back from the contempt in his voice. It had always been there, the fact that her temperamental, ill-thought out actions got more than just her into trouble, but no one had ever said it. Somehow, with those words, it had all come crashing into focus.

Regaining his composure, her father straightened his tunic, turning his back to where Katrina still sat on the floor, arms spread to gather any diaries he went after. “ _You will not say a word about this to anyone_.”

“ _I will_.”

He looked back. “ _One word, and you’re not a Trevelyan anymore. I will not let you drag this family into a war with such an influential Orlesian noble just for the honor of a sister who abandoned the family._ ”

Katrina’s past self had swallowed hard and then quietly begun to gather the diaries. The scene froze again.

With a long sigh, Katrina crossed her arms, her memories beginning to fall back into place. How could she have forgotten this? Her father had given her an ultimatum, the family name or Amelia. Like that had been a hard choice. “I probably should have gotten Clarence on board with my plan before I went to Orlais. I contacted him after, or tried to. When everything went wrong. I don’t know that he ever actually got the message, though. And even if he did…I’m not legally his sister anymore, so I suppose he wouldn’t be obligated to come to my rescue.”

 ** _You still went?_** The voice was from just beside her now.

“I wouldn’t be in the woods now if I hadn’t,” Katrina retorted, breaking out into a grin. Again the world shifted. This time, it didn’t bother showing anything other than trees. “You should have seen the looks on the nobles’ faces when I crashed that Orlesian salon. I showed the empress herself the things that the Comte had been doing. She promised she would handle the situation.” Her triumphant smile slipped. “But I guess…it wasn’t enough. What I had. After all, if he’d been tossed in a prison, he wouldn’t have been able to send chevaliers after me, now would he?”

She stared blankly at the trees around them. They all looked the same, and she half expected them to start raking at her hair, like they had in the past. “Clarence has a good heart, though. Michael, too. They’ll see that the Comte gets what he deserves. That Amelia can come home.”

**_And what of you_? **

With a half laugh, Katrina turned to look over her shoulder, pausing when she saw the figure standing there. She couldn’t quite make him out, and part of her whispered that that was a very bad thing. Another part of her whispered that she likely still had that damnable concussion. “Amelia ran away because she saw no other options. It was forced upon her. I _chose_ this path. I wasn’t corralled into a corner like she was.”

As she glanced around again, she started to see that things were…off. The trees were literally the same. Her brow raised as she looked down toward her feet. For a moment, she was in her usual shoes, then riding boots, then the boots were covered with dirt, mud, snow, and blood.

Her head began to throb again. It made the world tremble and spin, the trees falling to spires of white, hot pain that manifested in brilliant spikes. She took a step back and felt agony shoot through her hip. The trees fell in flaming pieces, disappearing from the world.

It was too much.

It was all too much.

**_If you could go back, would you change what had happened?_ **

The figure had managed to avoid the shifting reality, still present, still watching her. The world was cooling, and it numbed some of the pain, making it easier to focus, somehow stretching out to mollify the frantically changing world around them. The figure stood before her, looking somewhat akin to a templar or knight, bound in shining armor, with even brighter eyes shining through the small slit in the front of his helm.

**_If you could change what you did, would you?_ **

“Change things?” Katrina asked, her mind a little muddled. “Of course I would. Who wouldn’t fix a fuck up? Believe me, this was a good and proper one.”

The knight looked as though he was losing interest.

“If I had known he was this bad, I would have just killed the bastard. Consequences be damned, he deserves it.” Katrina sat up a little straighter as the knight’s gaze snapped back to her. “He’s hurt so many people, and nothing has been done. He poisoned his first wife. Not enough to kill her. Just enough that she was bedridden and dependent on him. For ten years. When the head maid tried to tell someone what he was doing, she disappeared. When his guard captain seemed like he was going to talk to someone, the man had an accident during training. People who cross the Comte go missing, and they’re just going to keep going missing or dying until _he_ does.”

 ** _Surely this cannot go unnoticed._** The knight knelt before her, that brilliant gaze narrowed. Something in the back of her mind warned her that knights eyes didn’t glow, but she couldn’t help but feel that he wasn’t as out of place as her mind tried to tell her.

“He’s Orlesian. So long as he does it without hard proof, his fellow nobles applaud him,” Katrina spat, unable to bite back the bitterness curling in her. The world began to turn a dark, dreary gray. “Just like they’ll clap him on the back for thwarting my attempt to oust him from power because there’ll be no proof that he sent me out here to die. I’ll just be another missing enemy.” She sunk back down. Her head hurt. She’d tried to play that damnable game, and she’d lost. Some tiny part of her whispered that someone had given her hope—the memory of a man in leathers bubbled up—but it hurt too much to focus on it.

Finally, she just shook her head. “I just wanted justice for Amelia.”

**_So you are a fool._ **

Brow scrunching together, Katrina narrowed her eyes at the knight. “Excuse me?”

**_Your world is rigid, unchanging. It takes one with true power to manipulate it at all, and even then, the effects are short-lived at best._ **

“I wouldn’t say that’s completely true,” Katrina argued. “I have seen plenty change in ‘my world’.”

**_But you were never the force behind it._ **

She wasn’t sure what his game was. Was he trying to piss her off? “I could be if I wanted to. And I did start _something_.” Even if it was her own demise.

**_Can you move a mountain?_ **

“With enough explosives, anyone can.” She crossed her arms. “But why waste time with moving a mountain when you can just walk around it and take in the scenery? I mean, what’s the point in moving it at all? Did it do something wrong?” She cocked her head, rolling her eyes. “The answer’s ‘no’, by the way. It can’t do anything wrong, because it’s a mountain. They’re just there, and if you can’t stand being near them, maybe you should be the one to move.”

**_That was not my point._ **

“Your point was to say that I cannot do anything. I gathered that,” Katrina snapped, indignant. “However, you’re wrong. I can do plenty.”

**_Your words hold no power._ **

“All words hold power.”

**_Can you conjure flame with one?_ **

“Depends on the kind of fire you’re looking for.”

The man let out a short humph. **_If you wake up, what will you do?_**

She had to turn to keep him in her view. “What?”

**_If you don’t_ die _, what will you do?_**

Katrina had to turn again. This time, she felt a dull pain in her hip. It was a bit too familiar. “I… I was going to try to meet Clarence, but…”

 ** _You want to believe he’ll be there, but he might not come. You seek to rely on his strength because your own has already failed you_** , the man said, his voice ringing faintly. **_If he is not an option, what will you do? What can you do?_**

“I…” She didn’t know what to say. She thought about Amelia and all that had happened, of her sister’s smile and the way it had slowly grown weaker and weaker until it was simply gone.

“I’ll find another way to nail that black-hearted bastard to the wall!” Katrina snapped. “I’ll make sure that he pays for what he did to Amelia! He didn’t kill her, but he did. He took away everything that she was until so little of her was left that…”

Anger flickered through her, coiling in her gut, ready to lash out. She clung to it, letting it push back the cold and pain. She pointed down toward her feet, glaring at the strange figure. Her mind felt clearer than it had been in ages. “There’s no _if_ about it. I _will_ wake up. And I _will_ find a way to finish what I started. No chevaliers or Avvar or _noble bastards_ will stop me from giving Amelia the _justice_ she deserves!”

**_Good._ **

She had rather expected him to continue to dismiss her. Even as she blinked, slightly taken aback by the simplicity of his response, the knight stepped up to her, reaching out and running his finger down her forehead, in the same way that Amelia had done earlier, before her dream had twisted.

**_I will be curious to see how much power is really in your words._ **

Those dozens and dozens of pains all through her that occasionally bubbled up for attention erupted at once, a sharp, hateful repeating stabbing ache in her hip overtaking the rest of them quickly.

With a sharply hissed curse, Katrina’s eyes snapped open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not completely sure I like how this chapter turned out--mostly the Cullen portion. There should be some fluff in the next chapter though. Yey. I'll try to have that one up next Monday--but it might be a little late. Work (hopefully) starts up again for me on Tuesday, and I'm trying to keep up with another fic as well, but I will do my best to keep with weekly updates for this one.
> 
> Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated! Thank you for reading.


	7. A Formal Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katrina finally wakes up, and a deal is struck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. Work was a bit more involved than usual, so I didn't have as much time as usual.

“Cullen, the hold is under attack.”

With a sharp breath, Cullen jerked upright in bed, already swinging his feet out from under the covers and looking around for his sword and shield when he realized that he wasn’t at home. The air of worry gone, his moves became sluggish as he glanced around groggily, the night’s events having left him drained. He narrowed his eyes when he saw Mia standing at the side of his bed, arms crossed, head bent down toward him, and lips trembling in a poor attempt to keep from smirking.

“I can’t believe that still works…”She lightly patted his frizzy curls before heading toward the door. “Come on then, shake that sleep off, and let’s go.”

Cullen rubbed his face with his hands, his blanket still draped over one leg. He’d worn his pants to bed, in case he _had_ needed to get up in a hurry. Even as he scratched at his bare chest, nails scraping against soft, golden chest hair, he knit his brow together, turning his head slowly to follow Mia. “I know I said I was here to be abused, but waking me this early, when we stayed up that late…”

He had a mild headache. Rather than alcohol—he’d barely had two cups—it was from getting almost no sleep and then waking up far, far, far too quickly. The feast to welcome the keep’s returning thane had lasted into the small hours of the night, and he and his warriors hadn’t dared retire early, lest they look as though they were snubbing the ones so ‘kind’ to house them.

Part of him was certain that was why the festivities had gone on as long as they had, though he knew that was just foolish paranoia.

He’d noticed the thane’s master of the hunt draw aside a server early in the evening and take them outside, spilling the contents of a mug onto the snow as he hissed something quietly. He’d returned to the table of honor a moment later with a different mug, gifting it to Cullen himself.

There was little doubt in his mind that the earlier one had been poisoned, though whether it had been something minor enough to simply make him look like a fool or strong enough to kill him was likely something he’d never have the privilege of knowing.

Perhaps that was for the best.

Mia didn’t seem to care about his chiding, though she did feign a look of mock disappointment. “Well, I suppose you don’t _have_ to get up _so_ early….”

With a sigh of relief, Cullen slumped back onto the bed. It was so ridiculously comfortable that he couldn’t even bring himself to mind the fact that it wasn’t in his hold. And he’d been having a good dream. He couldn’t quite remember what it’d been about, but it had been pleasant. That was so rare these days. Typically, when he did dream, it was about something horrific or just miserable.

Even as he started to drift back into his dreams, he could feel Mia watching him. Opening one eye, he lifted his head a little. “What?”

“Oh, nothing…” Mia shrugged a little, playing with a lock of her hair as she attempted and failed to glance innocently around. “Blackwall and I just thought you might want to be there when he talks to _Katrina_.”

“Why would I care if—” Cullen cut himself off as his sleep-addled mind pieced together what she was hinting at. In a flash he was sitting up again, brow pinched together, eyes wide. “The lowlander woman? She’s awake?”

“I’d say we got our sign.”

…-…

“I do not wish to pester you any more than you wish me to, but I will nag you until I get answers. In the very least, tell me where I am,” Katrina said the words carefully as she glared at the Avvar woman who was just finishing re-bandaging a few minor scrapes. She’d gathered that even though they both spoke common, her accent was something they were highly unaccustomed to. It made conversing quite difficult, though she’d done her best to speak slowly and clearly.

Her hip and hands had been healed the night before when she’d woken up, and her head had seemingly healed itself—she felt like she ought to know what had happened with that, but couldn’t quite remember.

Even so, she was ridiculously tired, as though she’d been running a marathon for days.

Healing spells—according to the few mage healers she’d dealt with in her life—drew mostly on magic, but the process of applying so much magic to someone without any often left them drained of energy. As she was, she felt like she could sleep for a month and still wake up tired.

No doubt this healer had been counting on that, and had expected her to fall asleep shortly after being healed, to be a minor inconvenience for a short time at worst.

She was fated to be immensely disappointed.

Katrina was not about to drift off until she knew exactly what had happened the night of her attempted assassination. Even if her eyelids were getting heavier with each passing minute…

When her healer and the other mage—Dorian, was it?—hadn’t been interested in helping her, she’d asked to speak with the blonde man with the curly hair. He wouldn’t be so dismissive, surely.

That had elicited smirks from both mages, though neither had bothered to go get the man, or do much of anything else. Dorian had simply left the room and the woman had pretended she couldn’t understand anything Katrina said, even though she’d talked to her briefly when Katrina first woke up.

“Why can’t you just answer—”

Even as she spoke, a sharp knock on the doorframe interrupted her. A man’s voice—vaguely familiar at best—spoke in the Avvar tongue, and the woman beside her responded curtly, all but flying from her seat beside the bed and sweeping out of the room as though demons were nipping at her heels.

Katrina was in a rather small room—it had a cot against the wall opposite where the door was—with no windows and single door blocked with a simple curtain. She hadn’t really seen anything beyond her new bedroom, save that she thought there was a fire pit in the next room. Overhead was a small hanging brazier, casting soft and eerie light into her small accommodations.

She was wearing a loose, rough brown chemise, and had several fur blankets piled on her bed. At present, she was sitting with her back against the wooden wall, blankets tugged up around her to keep that dastardly chill in the air at bay. It didn’t help that her long hair was still mostly wet from washing it earlier. The woman had helped her braid it—tired as she was, her fingers were clumsy, even with the feeling returned to them—but it was still cold on her scalp and against the back of her neck.

People were talking quietly in the next room over.

Even as she considered following to the door to see what was going on—that would mean letting her bare feet out from under the warmth of her blankets—the curtain was swept aside by a large hand and a bear of a man stepped inside. Katrina narrowed her eyes at him as he appraised her with a quirked brow and cocked head.

Mr. Woodland Hero followed him in.

From the waist down, both were dressed similarly to what she’d seen during the raid. However, neither had deemed it necessary, even in this incessant cold, to don a shirt. The bear took the chair the healer had been using, and the hero took a seat at the foot of her bed.

Just looking at them made her blood run colder. Did they have no sense?

Not that it wasn’t a pleasant view….

She barely caught introductions as they were offered, each of the men speaking of their titles with the same brisk fashion as some courtier. When they were finished, Thane Blackwall—who did not enjoy being called Randolph at all—motioned toward her with a hand that looked like it could break granite in half with a minimal flex of his fingers. “We were told your name is Katrina?”

“It is.”

“That’s it?” Thane Blackwall asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his muscular arms across his chest. “No surname? No titles?”

“My apologies,” Katrina said, struggling to keep from rolling her eyes. Things seemed to be going better than they had before—she wasn’t tied up for one—and she didn’t need her sharp tongue to leave her in poor standing. With that in mind, she barely managed to bite back a comment about not realizing she was making an entrance to a grand ballroom, and instead reached up to scratch her eyebrow. Considering how often she was berated for being too crass or rude, she tried her best to channel her best impersonation of Amelia. “To be perfectly honest, I…” How much would it discredit her if she told them she had likely been disowned for rebelling against her father’s wishes one too many times? “I didn’t think my title would carry much of anything down here. I’m Katrina Trevelyan of Starkhaven.”

“Lady Trevelyan—”

“I would prefer Katrina,” she interrupted, trying to maintain a polite smile.

“I must say, I was expecting you to try to kick me in the head again.” Katrina rolled her eyes and Thane Blackwall grinned.

“I doubt _you’d_ be overly friendly if people said Avvar were going to kill you and then you ran into some who were all scowls, swords, and rope bindings.”

Thane Magicsbane—she couldn’t help but think of him as Cullen, despite his request that she use his title—leaned toward her, resting one of his hands near her knee. “Who told you we would?”

“Honestly, they didn’t tell me. Not intentionally, anyway.” Katrina shifted a little so that she could face both of them more easily. “I just happened to hear about Avvar being involved when I was escaping that wretched, old outpost they tried to lock me in. They said they’d step in and end things after I’d been slain.”

“Why were you brought out here?” Thane Blackwall asked.

“To be killed.”

“But why?” Cullen pressed.

Thane Blackwall pointed to her. “Our chevalier says you attempted to murder someone.”

“Oh? You’re friends with the Orlesians, then?”

“Not quite,” Thane Blackwall tilted his head to one side. “And you haven’t answered my question. Are you out here because you tried to kill someone?”

“Hardly,” Katrina replied, tossing her braid over one shoulder before settling back against the wall again. Both of the men were watching her. Cullen seemed to have more faith in her though, and she chose to meet his gaze instead. “It would have been better if I had, though. Less hassle.”

“So no attempted murder?” Thane Blackwall clarified.

Taking in a deep breath, Katrina twisted her mouth to the side. “Attempted murder implies I hunted someone down with the intent to kill them. Trying to kill someone implies that during our last conversation, I decided the man needed to die. I never made such a decision, though I’m sure he spun it that way.”

“Then what exactly did you do?”

“He—the Comte de Forseau—attacked me,” Katrina replied. Then, she shrugged, making a vague motion around them. “I grabbed the closest thing to hit him with. I figured that if the black-hearted bastard was too busy tending to a clubbed head or broken hand, he’d let me go.” She paused and shrugged again, when she saw the flicker of a smile tug on Cullen’s lips for just a second. “The closest thing turned out to be a lovely little letter opener, and I _happened_ to hit him in the eye. Purely accidental, though it served its purpose.”

“Letter…opener?” Cullen asked, brow knitting together. There were slight circles under his eyes, and she wondered if he’d slept well recently.

She glanced from him to the other thane and back, tugging her blankets a bit closer about herself. “It’s…a bit like a small dagger. Not as sharp. Mostly just for cutting paper.”

Thane Blackwall crossed his arms across his broad chest and drummed his fingers against his arm. “So…this Comte sent you out to be murdered, because you _did_ almost kill him, _accidentally_. And you did that because he attacked you first?”

“Yes.”

“Why would he attack you?” Cullen asked. His accent was stronger than Thane Blackwall’s, though he was still easy enough to understand. His amber eyes searched hers, the beginnings of worry wrinkles already forming near their corners. Even so, he had a handsome face, and she found herself rather abruptly glaring at the wall furthest from him, if only to keep herself from blushing when she realized how close he was.

“Because I ruined him.” She snapped, sounding angrier than she’d meant to. When she heard an incredulous laugh, she eyed Thane Blackwall from the corner of her eye. “Or I tried to. Clearly I didn’t do a very good job if he’s still able to come after me.”

“You know what I’m going to ask,” Thane Blackwall said, a smirk in place as he rolled his wrist for her to continue.

“Oh, you mean why did I try to ruin him?” When Thane Blackwall’s smirk spread into a full grin, she shook her head, finally turning back to face them as she said, “He hurt my sister.” She shifted a little in her seat before adding, “Very badly. So she left. Everything.”

Even as she felt a faint pressure through the bundles of blankets she’d hoarded around herself—Cullen had put his hand on her shoulder—Thane Blackwall scoffed. “So your sister was too weak to fight her own battles, and you tried to fight for her.”

…-…

When Cullen had entered the small room where they were keeping Katrina, Cassandra’s warning about how she could never live up to what he’d made her in his mind had danced around at the back of his consciousness, whispering her words over and over.

His mother’s stories had twirled in an elegant dance with Cassandra’s. Her recounts of ballroom dances and introductions that lasted hours and all those other odd stories that had left his eyes wide with wonder as a child had given new form to the nameless ladies mentioned in them.

Though…her foul mouth had already countered a few of them.

Regardless, he hadn’t known what to expect.

Then he’d seen her. She’d looked somewhat akin to a caged animal as she watched Thane Blackwall move over to the chair in front of her. However, the mistrust in her eyes had died down when she saw Cullen. It had sent an odd curl of…something through his chest.

He’d ignored it as he sat next to her and kept up with her story as best he could. And then the subject of Katrina’s sister had come up.

One moment, she’d been docile, very much akin to the ladies in stories, lower lip quivering ever so slightly like she might start crying. The next, she’d been lunging toward Thane Blackwall with more than a few curses falling from her tongue.

Cullen caught her before she made it off the bed, pulling her backwards. Even as her balance shifted, she kicked out, toes just barely missing Thane Blackwall’s nose.

This time, she was harder to mollify, her anger fresh and body healed. However, he wrapped an arm firmly around her waist and held her to him, his other arm bracing around her shoulders.

“Say it again, you cold-blooded—”

Cullen shifted his hand from her shoulder to cover her mouth, and she tried to lean back, though she just ended up with her head against his shoulder as she gave him a betrayed glare. He leaned his head closer to hers, whispering, “Insult him in his hold, and he must restore his honor. You will not like it.”

If Katrina insulted Thane Blackwall, she’d likely just get locked up or tied to a rock until they broke that spirit of hers. He didn’t know all the common words to explain that, though.

Thane Blackwall seemed vastly amused by his attempts to quell Katrina’s anger. “He’s right about that. Respect goes just as far out here as it does in your cities.”

Gripping Cullen’s arm, Katrina tried to jerk his hand away, and he let it drop, watching her cautiously. “You say that as you disrespect my sister.”

“Let us get back to the raid, then,” Thane Blackwall offered, shrugging a shoulder as she continued to glare his way. “You’re saying that all you know is that you were to be killed by Avvar? And you’ve no idea why? No inkling? You weren’t supporting a new law or some project that might have hurt him more than your…how exactly did you try to ruin him?”

“I brought the terrible things he’d done to the attention of the empress,” Katrina replied. A shiver trilled through her, and Cullen dragged one of the discarded blankets over to her, wrapping it around her gently. She gripped the edge of it, glancing up at him—he could swear he saw her cheeks flush, though that was likely from the cold—and giving him a short nod. Even with the fur, she still leaned against him. “She said she would handle him. She swore it. Yet…” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m not Orlesian. I don’t participate in any politics that would have done anything to him, bad or good.”

“And when you looked into him, he never seemed to have something against the Avvar?” Thane Blackwall pressed.

“He was a bit busy drugging his first wife and acting as a loan shark. And murdering people. And getting away with it.”

Cullen leaned forward a little, watching her carefully as contempt twisted her mouth into a sneer. He rested his hand on her shoulder, nodding toward her when she looked up at him. “If the empress took care of him, are you sure he is the one who wanted you to die?”

“I haven’t pissed anyone else off!” She scowled at Thane Blackwall when he murmured his doubt of that in the Avvar tongue. “Even if someone else got their men to wear his family’s crest when they captured me, I haven’t done anything to anyone!”

“He didn’t have allies?” Cullen asked softly. “There was no one who would…suffer if he lost his power?”

She just stared blankly at him for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t know? I don’t play with Orlesian nobles. I barely play with Starkhaven nobles.”

“So you’re telling us you know nothing,” Thane Blackwall said. Even as Katrina glared at him again, he stared back at her, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his eyes. “You’re useless. We wasted our time dragging you here and healing you.”

Before Katrina could reply with a no doubt scathing comment that they would likely only half understand, Cullen looped his arm around her again, tugging her slightly toward himself. “I wouldn’t say useless.”

The look Thane Blackwall gave him…

By the mountain father, it was cold. He shook his head, switching to their native tongue so that he wouldn’t struggle so with getting his point across. “She’s still noble. Perhaps we can lure the people who wanted her dead out here if we show that she hasn’t been killed? We could draw someone more knowledgeable to us. Or,” he added quickly, when his fellow thane did not seem sold, “couldn’t she help with reading those books? Your augur can read, yes, but wouldn’t she be faster?”

When he glanced back at the lowlander, she was watching his mouth, almost as though she were mesmerized by the way he formed such simple words. She quickly blinked out of it when she realized he was watching her, directing her gaze toward the wall.

Thane Blackwall leaned forward in his seat, recapturing her attention and making sure she would listen before he spoke. “There were books in the carriage that was supposed to be attacked. We think they might have been important. Can you read them?”

She shifted a little in Cullen’s grip, tugging the blankets closer to her as she eyed Thane Blackwall. “You think the Comte or his friends or whoever might need these books?” When the thane nodded, she hesitated. “What language are they in?”

“Not common,” Thane Blackwall replied dryly.

“That’s not helpful,” Katrina retorted, eyes narrowing. “I can take a look at them, but depending on the language, I may not be able to even read the titles.”

“Let us make a deal then,” Thane Blackwall offered, “you read those books for me, find out why they matter, and I’ll see to it that my men get you to Fereldan. That was where you were headed, so I assume you wish to go there?”

Cullen felt oddly betrayed by the promise, though he couldn’t quite place why. Katrina, however, glanced from one man to the other, clearly skeptical. “But what if I can’t read them?”

“Pray to whatever Gods you have that you can.”

…-…

Katrina tugged on one of the gloves she’d been given as she walked after her Avvar escort. She didn’t know these men, but they were grim, eyeing her with either mistrust or condescending amusement. No doubt, she looked quite out of place in the clothes she’d been provided. They were Orlesian, cotton blends that reminded her of less effective versions of her riding leathers. She’d thought those had been bad at keeping out this abominable cold.

Maker, these were summer wear, she was sure, though the shirt did have long sleeves.

The damned Avvar were wandering about in short sleeves or shirtless, as though there weren’t still piles and piles of snow heaped against everything, with icy droplets dripping off everything. More than a few had dropped down her neck, though she’d managed not to jump after the second one.

It gave her guards too much pleasure to watch her squeak and squirm.

She had, at least, also been given a rather voluminous cloak as well. It looked almost royal, with slightly frayed golden thread embroidered into a deep blue. The Avvar had had these trophies for a long time.

All of them were dusty and smelled of moths and must.

At least her shoes fit.

Thank the Maker for small miracles.

Though, it was hard to say how much of a miracle it really was. For all she knew, they were just as damnable as the horses she’d stumbled across in the woods. Temptations that would only lead her further into misadventure.

She needed to get back to the ‘lowlands’. She needed to make sure that the Comte paid for his crimes. She had promised someone, hadn’t she? That she could find a way?

Attempts to remember did little more than give her a headache.

However, that was not her main concern at the moment. It was far more important that the asshole Avvar had threatened her, and Cullen had done little more than tighten his grip on her, rather than actually argue.

They had left shortly after the threat, with Thane Blackwall saying he would send someone with clothes he thought would fit her. Cullen had merely nodded to her, giving her a gentle, reassuring smile that tugged on the scar on his upper lip before following the other thane.

One thing seemed certain: the thanes were not in agreement with what to do with her, and the one on her side seemed out of his element.

If her sister were here, Amelia would have advised to try to seduce the kinder one into making damned sure that they were allowed their freedom.

However, Amelia was miles and miles and miles away, and Katrina couldn’t seduce a gnat, much less a man in power.

And so she grudgingly followed after her escort, wondering just what was going to happen to her if the books were written in the Anders’ tongue. Surely they couldn’t fault her for not being able to read something when they themselves couldn’t read it?

After all, she would be doing them a favor. The likelihood that there were any simple books that could bring a man like the Comte down was…

As she entered into a throne room of sorts—bones of great beasts hung from the ceiling and adorned the rough wooden walls, and boasted that whoever had claimed the creatures’ lives was powerful indeed—she saw the thanes, speaking with half a dozen others. Cullen stood to the side with one woman beside him.

A wife perhaps?

Katrina was surprised at how disappointed the thought made her.

He was rather handsome—and shirtless—but that hardly meant she needed to be invested in whether he was available or not. After all, it wasn’t like she was going to be staying out here very long.

Regardless, she gravitated toward him, stopping in front of him and then eyeing the others when their scrutiny turned her way. She recognized Dorian, who simply gave her a wry smile before stepping forward and motioning toward one of two halls that left the back of the room.

“Lady Katrina, I’ll show you to the books.”

Even as he led her down one of the halls, she glanced back. Cullen still stood back with the other woman, though he gave her a small smile when their gazes met.

There were several rooms along the hall, sporting various bounties just barely visible behind the curtains blocking them mostly from view—piles of old clothes, chests of trinkets, pretty things stolen from her world. An innate terror bubbled up that she might be tucked away in some such room, though, that wouldn’t be much different a fate from what her family had planned for her.

When they reached a small side room, Dorian motioned for her to enter and followed after her, pointing toward the contents of the room. “These are all of them.”

There were two bookshelves on the far side of the room that immediately caught her attention, lined with old, gilded tomes. However, Dorian was quick to draw her attention down toward the middle of the room, to an object she’d at first dismissed as a low table of some sort.

There had to be at least two hundred books in the stacks in the center of the room, if not more. Katrina had never been good at estimating at a glance.

Her gaze slid toward the augur who arched his brow as he motioned again toward the books. “Well? These are the ones I can’t read.”

“Oh, so there’s even more?” Katrina asked, unable to hide the incredulity from her tone.

“Many more. Some are in common, fortunately,” Dorian explained, trotting over to the books and picking up a few. He held one out to her. “Our chevalier confirmed that they were to pick up these books after they’d dropped you off. It was to look as though you were the contents of the carriage, not the books.”

“Which makes no sense,” Katrina muttered, taking the tome and inspecting its cover idly. It didn’t have a title and the way the leather was cracked and frayed, she had a feeling this was more a personal journal than some library book or scholarly recourse. “I wouldn’t have been heading back to Orlais.”

“You realize people lie, yes?” Dorian pointed out, crossing his arms as he watched her flip to the first page.

“If they wanted to lie, they’d have to say where the carriage came from and have proof that I paid for it and…” Katrina trailed off as she flipped a few pages forward. She flipped a few more.

This journal was useless. It was discussing the migration patterns of hawks.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Dorian pulled a rather pristine note—especially compared to the others—from a pouch on his belt and handed it to her. “There’s also this. It was on the captain of the chevaliers. It’s in Orlesian, so I could only make out a bit of it, but I think it was his orders to kill you?”

Katrina opened the note and skimmed it quickly.

_Wait for the guards to kill the Avvar and then tell them their debts are paid if they handle the lady with an Avvar weapon. I want every man under your banner to be able to say that she died at an Avvar’s blade without lying. Too many people can see lies, even behind a mask._

_Recover the body for identification, and kill the guards so that there are no witnesses. Burn the carriage. Make sure everything burns; we don’t want any bits of correspondence left to be found._

_Burn these orders with them._

_– C.V._

A thought occurred to her, even as Dorian said something else, something about how he was sure they could easily fabricate the evidence she’d been rambling about earlier.

She went back to the cover and inspected the binding.

These books, despite their horrid condition, were of a fancier make than one’s typical journal. Instead of a simple paper cover, they were hardback and leather-bound.

With a frown, Katrina ducked her head forward a bit, eyes narrowed as she inspected the cover itself. It was leather, and it was in atrocious condition. She thought she heard Dorian lament this, though she didn’t bother to look up at him to check. Instead, she was too focused on the book itself.

Whatever glue had been used to put the leather onto the cover’s board had been undone and then redone—poorly. She couldn’t quite remember the names for half the practices that went with books being made, but she knew what this meant.

She caught the edge of the leather and slowly worked it up, tearing it free from the book’s brittle cover.  Katrina tugged it harder, tearing the leather a bit and ignoring as Dorian let out a startled cry.

That she would find a scholar out here in the middle of nowhere was….

The Maker had a cruel sense of humor.

She held up a hand as he tried to get the book from her, holding it back so that it was out of his reach. “Give me a second.” Despite his grousing, he complied, stepping back a pace and crossing his arms as he watched her further mangle one of his clan’s prizes.

She’d worked an entire side of the leather free when she saw it. Paper tucked under the leather, hidden between it and the main part of the cover. It took a little more effort to work it free, but once it was, she let the book thud to the floor, inspecting the folded piece of paper.

It was worn and old and looked like it had been opened and read a hundred times.

Dorian closed the space between them, turning a little so that he was standing next to her as she unfolded the paper—a letter. His chin hovered above her shoulder as she skimmed the contents of the letter quickly. “What does it say?”

“I…it refers to something without ever naming it, so I’m not completely sure,” Katrina admitted. “But this looks like…orders perhaps? Something about a rock and a cave and…” She paused, realizing the augur was so close and turning to look at him. He arched an eyebrow, though straightened up. “It’ll probably make more sense if there are more in the books.”

“So…we’re destroying works of literature, then?”

“Well, just the covers.”


	8. Tall Tales and Missing Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite knowing that he should be gearing his people for the long journey back to their hold, Cullen can't help but let his mind wander to Katrina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad people are enjoying the story so far! Thank you for the kudos and comments.

Cullen hadn’t been able to sleep. After his second night there, he’d been too restless. His warriors were uncomfortable, and it sat poorly with him. A good leader wouldn’t make them stay so long. If even one soul—from either clan—brought up the events in the Veilfire Caverns, things were going to get very ugly very quickly.

He’d told his people to hold their tongues, to keep to themselves as much as they could to avoid any confrontations. Even so, the events of the past hung over all of them like a curse. They walked a rope across an abyss and the simplest of breaths could send them falling.

It was foolish to stay. He would talk to Mia as soon as she was up and see about leaving earlier. Lady willing, their departure would be uneventful.

Honestly, he was more concerned with getting that far.

If the Shadow Wolves were to kill Cullen and his people, they could easily say that the whole of them had died to the lowlanders. It would be an insult to his clan and leave them weak, but it would be hard to prove otherwise. Branson might try to lead them in any skirmishes, but the neighboring clans’ pacts were with Cullen, not him. They would have no reason to aid him, nor to keep from joining in an attack.

Not that such things were likely to happen.

But they could.

They could, and they were determined to play out in his mind every which way, over and over.

Normally, he would have managed his sleep well enough, fumbling through the nightmares of what might result from his failures, but his dreams had been…altered. Mostly, that was thanks to Katrina. Now in his dreams, it wasn’t just his clan he was failing, but her, too. Somehow, she was there among the body count, and when he woke up, he found himself too uncomfortable to try to sleep. That he would care about her as much as people he’d known for years…

That some small part of him cared _more_ about her than some of his own brethren…

Cassandra and Mia were both suspicious. The day before, Thane Blackwall, Cullen, Cassandra, and Mia had all gone to check on how their lowlander was getting on with her task of translation. When the lot of them had walked into the small room Dorian had taken Katrina to for some peace, away from prying eyes, they’d been somewhat startled to see that she’d persuaded the augur to destroy the only evidence they had that might lead them to whoever was using the Avvar as a scapegoat.

“I told you to _read_ them,” Thane Blackwall had said, incredulity and anger lacing his voice as they had taken in the mess in the room.

When Cullen had pointed out that she was hardly destroying the parts that mattered—they’d just been removing the covers to find hidden notes—Mia had wondered aloud if the lowlander wasn’t separating key pieces of evidence from each other. After all, what if it mattered which note came from which book?

Katrina and Dorian had both stopped at that, looking somewhat akin to children who had just realized their brilliant plan to become legendary heroes was not so brilliant after all.

It also didn’t help that Katrina alone spoke Antivan, which was what half the notes were supposedly in. Mia didn’t trust her.

It had baffled Cullen at first. His sister had been on his side, willing to defend the poor woman’s life—as she had enraptured Cullen so—something he was having a harder and harder time denying.

It was with a most grudging admittance that he accepted he was probably a _little_ more curious about her than he ought to be.

However, after they had all spoken together, Mia and Cassandra had both walked away wary. Thane Blackwall had been downright irate. It wasn’t until Cassandra and Cullen had gone to see his other warriors that Cassandra had finally explained it to him.

Katrina was playing the thanes against one another. Or so both Mia and Cassandra believed. The little lowlander was sweet to Cullen, answering almost any question he had, even doing her best to use a vocabulary he would understand. When it came to Thane Blackwall, she was borderline belligerent. He’d thought she might throw a book at him once, when he’d made a sharp comment about the notes. He’d wanted to know how she knew the notes would be there. Her only response, as she fingered the tome she was holding like one might a throwing knife, had been, “I have friends in very low places.”

When Cullen had asked her what she’d meant, she’d relaxed and explained how a friend had had an affair with a married lady and how they had passed notes using some of the Countess’s favorite literature.

“She gives you power where you shouldn’t have it,” Cassandra had murmured. “If she does that in front of anyone else, it will get us all in trouble. And what do you think will happen when we leave? Do you think she is going to play nice with Thane Blackwall? Dorian seems to have her on some sort of a leash, but she clearly values you over the Shadow Wolves.”

It _was_ dangerous. For everyone.

And yet…

And yet he couldn’t help but think of that fire in her eyes and the way she always looked at him like she thought he was…worthy. There was no better word for it. There was no doubt in her, when it came to him.

And it wasn’t like he was the only one she respected. She was clearly fond of Dorian. The augur had been thrilled to explain all the ways messages could be hidden in books—ways that Katrina had told him of—and had even asked his thane if they might procure something called ‘invisible ink’ the next time they traded with Val Royeaux.

Thane Blackwall had not been amused.

Dorian had been, though. Every time Katrina spoke to Cullen, Dorian was watching him, a smirk in place as though he expected something to happen.

It made no sense.

None of it.

Worst of all, it made no sense that she would be there in his dreams, needing him to be whatever it was that she expected.

One of the elder-women of his hold had told stories about how dangerous lowlanders could be. They were weaker than Avvar in physical aspects—normally—but it was their way with words that made them formidable. Better to strike them down before they could unless their wicked tongues, the woman had always said.

By the Mountain Father, with the stories she spun, lowlanders could be fallen gods, the way they could whisper their ways in the minds of those who dared to listen too long. They wove simple things into such intricate webs that they ensnared even the most sensible of folk rather easily.

Perhaps that was why Mia had changed her mind so quickly. She had always listened so intently to those stories.

But then, so had Cullen, and he…he couldn’t see it.

Truly, it would be better to leave for home. Perhaps in a few days he would be free of whatever spell the lowlander had on him. He would get back into the swing of managing his hold, and she would become a distant memory, eventually so faded that he would hardly remember what had been special about her to begin with.

…

He couldn’t even get himself to believe that.

But he couldn’t sleep to get away from thoughts of her, and lying in bed brought him right back. The sun wouldn’t be over the mountains for a while yet, but he got out of bed and dressed himself. Cullen had made it halfway down the hall when he realized he had nowhere to walk.  Wandering the keep would be asking for a dagger in his back.

However, he couldn’t bring himself to go back to bed, either. So instead he walked out to Thane Blackwall’s throne room and took to inspecting the different trophies.

As he looked over a rather impressively sized gurgut skeleton, he heard a soft curse and then the quiet padding of boots over to where he was. He recognized the voice immediately. Allowing himself a sideways glance, he arched his brow as Katrina came to a stop next to him, looking up at the skeleton on display.

He couldn’t tell if the Gods were being kind or cruel.

“The Wolves let you wander around with no guard?”

“They let _you_.” Katrina hesitated when she noticed his brow quirk. Glancing back toward the gurgut, she shrugged lightly. “I was dropped off. And anyway, Dorian says the Gods are watching, so any devious plots will be thwarted quickly.”

“You sound like you don’t believe,” Cullen asked, turning so that he was facing her. He crossed his arms across his chest, trying to remember to keep his guard up around her. It would do to remember words were a lowlander’s greatest weapon.

Katrina twisted her mouth to the side as she kept her gaze forward. “One does not spend their whole life being told there is but one Maker only to toss it aside the first time someone says that’s wrong.” She reached out slowly, letting her fingers run down one of the long ribs. “It must be nice, though. Having Gods who listen.”

“Yours doesn’t?”

“The Maker left us because we’re all terrible assholes,” Katrina rolled her eyes. “If we pray enough and try hard enough to be better, someday he’ll realize we’re not so bad and come back.”

Cullen couldn’t help but shake his head. “That is…”

He caught the glint in her eye, though her gaze was still mostly on the gurgut. “Is this a dragon then?”

“This?” Cullen laughed as he looked back at the trophy. “Hardly. Dragons are much bigger.”

“Oh?” Katrina’s gaze finally left the trophy and settled on him. “I’d heard the stories of dragons as big as houses, but I thought maybe this was a little one?”

“There’d be no sense in showing off a dragon this little.”

“I would’ve thought killing any dragon would be impressive.” Katrina crossed her arms, mimicking his stance.

“A dragon this size would barely be more than a hatchling. Not exactly a challenge.”

“Have _you_ killed many dragons?”

“A nest or two,” Cullen replied, learning against the wall as he watched her. “Nothing worthy of telling over a fire or a mug.”

“What’s your greatest…?” Katrina rolled her wrist, letting her hand make loose circles as she thought. “I don’t know what to even call it? Hunt? Kill?”

Cullen watched her trying to get a feel for what was going on. Mia seemed worried Katrina might be trying to put the thanes at odds to cement her own power. He didn’t like to think she could be capable of such things, but…

“Why do you want to know?”

At that, she arched her eyebrows. “Why don’t you want to tell me? Was it a baby dragon?”

“If you must know, the most dangerous thing I ever killed was actually an abomination from your lowlands that escaped into the mountains. Hateful, murderous thing.” He motioned toward himself. “That’s why they call me Magicsbane.”

“You fought an abomination? Without templars? By yourself?”

“I don’t know what a templar is, but yes.”

“They’re the ones who usually deal with such monsters,” Katrina murmured. She picked at her cloak, looking him over, curious. “I’ve never seen an abomination. I hear they’re scary, though. What with the demons making their skin melt and all.”

Cullen frowned. “I still don’t understand how one of your mages could have corrupted a God so badly, for what happened to them to have happened in the first place.”

“If I had an answer, I’d tell you,” Katrina offered, shrugging slightly.

Cullen fidgeted a little, though he tried not to. It was unbecoming of a thane. “I did not expect you to have one.”

Silence settled betwixt the two. Both glanced toward the gurgut and then back at one another. Away and back. Katrina ran her hands up and down her arms slowly, turning her attention back toward the gurgut finally. “So…what is this thing, then? If it’s not a dragon?”

Cullen tilted his head to the side as he inspected her. If this was a game, he didn’t want to play. He didn’t want to find out she was just trying to manipulate him. That she was just some typical lowlander. Though, she already didn’t fit most of the stories…. “What is it you really want?”

Blinking back her surprise, Katrina turned about to face him. “Am I not allowed to make small talk?” She brought her hand back against her chest, mock dismay on her face. “As you wish, thane. I’ll scurry off to start translating now.”

Despite her words, she turned slowly, gaze holding his, as though she was waiting for him to stop her. Cullen found himself grounded in place, however. Was this some sort of lowlander trick? It really was some kind of a game, wasn’t it? She was testing him for something, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was she actually wanted. And she clearly wasn’t going to tell him.

As she finally broke his gaze to head down the hall toward where the letters were being kept, he decided that it didn’t matter. Cassandra’s warning, Mia’s mistrust, the elder woman’s stories all be damned. He’d had a feel for this lowlander since the beginning, and he would wager most anything that she wasn’t one of the bad ones.

Why, he couldn’t say. But he just knew. Almost like a little voice was whispering in the back of his head.

He pushed himself away from the wall and matched her stride. She seemed surprised again, though a faint smile tugged the corners of her lips up. “I’d offer to show you, but my hold is far from here.” He paused before adding, “My ‘greatest’ trophy, that is.”

“Maybe I could come visit you sometime,” she offered, almost flippantly as she tugged her cloak a bit tighter around her.

He arched an eyebrow, ignoring her suggestion. “You can’t possibly be cold enough to need something so heavy.”

“I don’t know if you’re coldblooded or warm-blooded to be able to walk around shirtless in this weather, but I’m the opposite.” Katrina shook her head, inspecting him. He thought he saw a small blush settle onto her cheeks as she stopped in front of the doorway to where her work awaited her. “Just looking at you makes me all cold.”

“Just looking at you makes me all hot,” he retorted, before he could stop himself. As he glanced down at her, he noticed her lips trembling as though she were trying not to laugh. His brow pinched together, and he felt oddly childish as he asked, “Did I…mix up some of my words?”

“No, no,” Katrina’s eyes widened, and she waved her hand quickly. “You’re fine, really. I’m just…a terrible person. Really, you speak quite well.”

“Now you are teasing me,” Cullen frowned.

“My dear thane,” Katrina gave him a pointed look, “I promise that you will know when I am teasing you. Subtlety has never been in my repertoire.”

“I do not know what that means.”

“It means I’m very bad with hints,” she shrugged.

“Hints about what?”

She stared up at him and then shook her head, looking around the room. “Anything, really.” Her back was to him as he tilted his head. She sighed, taking a few more steps into the room. “I couldn’t sleep and thought I’d get a jump on this, yet it seems my initiative is for naught. They’ve left me no ink, so I can’t very well translate and make notes about it.”

Though a part of him wanted to dart back to his room and get her a blanket—she did seem cold—he walked into the room after her, glancing around with more care than he had the last time he’d been there. A small table had been brought into the room, though it wasn’t high enough for a chair. A pillow of some sort—with a ridiculous amount of embroidery on it—had been set beside it instead. Stacks of those notes that she and Dorian had found cluttered the table, with the coverless books surrounding it. He walked over and picked up a few papers, letting his eyes follow the curve of the lines without any of them meaning anything. “This is a lot of reading.”

“Mmmm,” Katrina frowned. “I am not going to enjoy this.”

“I thought all lowlanders liked to read.”

“Depends on what we’re reading,” Katrina replied, stepping up beside him and peeking around him to look at the note. “A comedy about miscommunication that ends happily? Fun stuff. Mysteriously vague secrets that could doom us all? A little less fun.”

“Vague?”

“Here,” Katrina held her hand out and took the papers when Cullen gave them to her. “This one has five lines about weather. The gist is sunny with a few clouds wandering past. Then it says, ‘We will meet beneath the willow, should you be of a mind to trade.’ And that’s it. Trade what? What willow? I didn’t think Willows grew this far south.”

“I see.”

“I don’t see how this is going to get you any closer to finding out who did this.”

Cullen shifted his weight, crossing one arm across his chest and using it to prop up his other, his hand just below his chin. “What about the books? Perhaps they hold key details?”

“They’re nature studies, from the looks of things,” Katrina replied, tapping one of them. “The orders Dorian showed me that were on the captain said that these were to be burned so that no one would find the _letters_ rather than the books themselves.”

“Nature studies.”

“Boring ones, too,” Katrina set the notes back on the table and picked up one of the books, flipping the pages absentmindedly. “Dorian and I looked through a few. They talk about migratory patterns of finches and the like.”

“Finches?”

“They’re a type of bird—”

Cullen held up a hand. “I know what a finch is.”

With a small shrug, Katrina glanced down at the page she’d stopped on. “I just thought you might have different names for them. Avvar names.”

“We do,” Cullen replied, his tone softening a little.

“I’d love to learn them,” Katrina murmured, her gaze moving quickly across the page. “Avvar words, I mean. From what little I’ve heard, yours sounds like an interesting language.” She paused looking up at him. There was a light in her eyes. It wasn’t that unquenchable fire, but something else. Something that left Cullen at a loss for what to do or say, especially as the words that accompanied that look registered. “Maybe you could teach me?”

“That would be—”

“Beneath a thane,” Mia finished. She strode into the room, looking from Cullen to Katrina and back. She narrowed her eyes at Cullen for a moment before finally addressing the lowlander. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I couldn’t sleep and wanted to get a start on translating,” she motioned toward the table. “We just got here. There was no ink, so…I wasn’t sure what I was going to do.”

“Thane Magicsbane escorted you here?”

That was the first time Mia had ever called him by his formal title, and somehow, it stung. There was a distance in those words. A coldness.

“No,” Katrina was saying. “The young man dropped me off. He said Dorian wouldn’t mind.”

“A young man told you _Augur Corpseflame_ wouldn’t mind if he dropped you off, alone?”

Ah. So the titles were more for the lowlander.

It brought little comfort.

“He seemed so sure,” Katrina seemed genuinely taken aback by Mia’s anger. “I didn’t think twice. He said there was no point in sitting about in the dark when there were things to do.”

“Did this young man give you his name?”

“No.”

 “What did he look like?” Mia snapped.

“I…” Katrina paused, tilting her head. “I can’t remember.”

“Where did he go?”

Katrina’s brow knit together as she looked down, suddenly puzzled and lost. “He must have left when I walked over to Thane Magicsbane.”

Mia’s gaze slid back towards Cullen. He knew that look. That was look she had when she was about to set someone in their place to make sure they never had another misstep again. “Did you see anyone come in with the lowlander?”

“I was admiring your husband’s trophies,” Cullen murmured. “I didn’t look to see who had brought her.”

Mia shifted to their native tongue. “You mean _if_ someone brought her.” That crease between her brows lessened slightly, and she shook her head. “You need to leave before Blackwall finds you back here. You’ve no business being here without an escort, yourself.”

“You needn’t worry, love,” Thane Blackwall stepped into the room, Dorian by his side. “I know my fellow thane is no thief.”

“The rest of the hold doesn’t,” Mia hissed. She gave Katrina another glare, which only worsened when she realized that the lowlander still seemed lost to her confusion.

With a low, dry laugh, Thane Blackwall motioned for Cullen to come with him. “Dorian will tend to our…lowlander. You won’t be needed here.”

Cullen glanced at her, frowning when he saw that Dorian had already slipped around to her and was speaking quietly, showing her where the ink was stored on one of high up shelves, where it couldn’t easily be knocked over.

As he looked back at her, she glanced over her shoulder. She seemed more withdrawn—possibly the most he’d ever seen her in their short time together—but she gave him a weak smile. He returned it with a reassuring one, hoping to settle her nerves.

However, he didn’t linger. Now that Mia had pointed out his folly, he couldn’t help but wonder what had possessed him to think it was alright for either of them to wander through the rooms that held the Wolves’ treasures.

As he followed Thane Blackwall into the hall, Mia stepping out after him, his fellow thane appraised him quickly before motioning ahead with his bearded chin. “I think it would be better for everyone if you and yours left this morning. I’m sure we can have you ready for travel before noon.”

Despite wanting to argue, wanting to insist that he could help with Katrina, that she wasn’t as diabolical as some of the Avvar feared, the part of him that was thane, that was responsible for his warriors, managed to overcome his infatuation. He simply nodded and matched Thane Blackwall’s pace, not looking back to see if Mia was on his heels.

They didn’t say anything as they returned to the throne room.

…-…

Something political was going on.

Katrina was sure of it. The atmosphere held a tension that was normally reserved for sitting rooms and side rooms at gatherings, where two people were allowed to let their mistrust and unease fester out of the eyes of the disapproving public. It felt like when Gregory or Amelia had been trapped in small quarters with a noble from a rival house.

Them or her mother.

Maker, but that woman was terrifying when she decided to go after someone. She might be from Starkhaven, but her blood could run unbearably cold if she felt she’d been slighted. Katrina had always considered herself lucky to be family, as they were typically the only ones exempt from her wrath.

Though now…

Now, Katrina was in the middle of nowhere and assumed dead.

Now, it still didn’t matter.

What did matter was that something was going on here, in the Shadow Wolves’ keep. Something to do with the two thanes, though she wasn’t sure what exactly. After all, that they’d been working together meant they at least had some sort of alliance, surely.

And yet… there were enough side glares and frowns that she could almost—despite the different clothing and accents—mistake herself for being at an Orlesian gathering. Perhaps the Orlesians had more sway over the Avvar than either party realized.

Maker’s ass.

Something political was definitely going on. She was sure of that.

Just as she was sure that every word her mother and Amelia and her few, few, few close friends had ever said about her ability to flirt was completely and utterly true.

Katrina had always known she was horrid at such things, but this morning had made it painfully obvious, even to her. The whole courtship thing—coy glances, subtle remarks, secret looks shared across rooms—had always seemed ridiculously complicated to her, and Gregory had often told her she’d just be better off if she married someone the family found for her. At least then she could save herself the humiliation of trying to catch someone’s eye.

That had been before the family had given up on finding someone for her. Of late, Mother had been pushing for her to join the Chantry as a sister and live out her days in quiet contemplation.

The Void would come crashing down from the sky before _that_ happened.

Katrina frowned when a book just barely missed her head. Turning to Dorian, she arched an eyebrow, tapping her quill against the side of the table. “You’re lucky that missed.”

“Well, I had to do something to get you to stop staring wistfully after Thane Magicsbane,” he muttered back. “I’m not doing all this work by myself.”

“Seeing as I’m the one who’ll be translating almost everything, I hardly see how you could.” Katrina glanced at the door one more time and then shrugged lightly, turning to the letter she was working on and beginning to jot down what it said in the margins. “It’ll probably take me a few weeks. Far, far longer if you expect me to translate the books themselves.”

“And you don’t want to do that?”

“I…” Katrina glanced at the door again. Of course she didn’t want to do that. She _wanted_ to avenge Amelia and then perhaps… No. That was stupid. She needed to stop thinking about certain individuals and the way even the dimmest of lights seemed to play off their curly hair and well sculpted frame.

Besides, she was sure that she had recruited someone’s aid in regards to helping Amelia, and she couldn’t very well just dismiss that. But it was all so…fuzzy. “I think I promised someone something. But I can’t remember. I need to make the Comte pay, though. I’ll help with this—the longer I’m gone, the more likely he’ll think I’m dead, and the easier it will be for me to sneak back into Val Royeaux.”

Dorian rolled his neck slowly, clearly getting tired from their time with the books. Despite his love for them, he was still unaccustomed to sitting with texts for this many hours. He’d already muttered something about trying to get the Gods to help them read a few times, though he hadn’t bothered to explain to Katrina. They’d been at this for at least four hours. “You’ve all kinds of holes in your memories, haven’t you?”

“Not usually,” Katrina frowned. “Perhaps my head wound did more damage than we thought…”

“The Gods healed you of that, so if there’s damage left, it’s damage they wanted there,” Dorian dismissed the idea.

Katrina peered over at him. “Could you ask them?” When Dorian paused in flipping through one of the common journals—he’d brought a few of them into the room so that he could translate and keep an eye on Katrina—she motioned around them, to the empty air. “Your Gods. They answer, right? Could you ask them if I’m supposed to be forgetting things?”

Even as he frowned at her and opened his mouth to say something no doubt sarcastic, something reddish orange shimmered to life in the air near him. Katrina could only see it for the briefest of moments, but it had been there, she was sure. Dorian blinked, expression growing somewhat surprised as he tilted his head. “They say you shouldn’t worry. What you need to know will come to you.”

Katrina eyed him and the—once again—empty air. “Really?”

“The Gods would not waste time to placate one who is not their own,” Dorian looked back down at his journal. “That one even thought to say anything is…surprising.” His gaze flickered back toward her a moment and then he shrugged. “It should put my thane’s mind at ease that the Gods are this comfortable around you.”

“Gods can be uncomfortable?”

“Of course they can.”

Katrina wound a lock of hair around her finger slowly as she watched the Avvar man. “So, are they—”

“I’m not wasting anymore breath educating you about our Gods until you’ve invested yourself in your task at hand.”

“Thane Magicsbane didn’t mind talking to me about it.”

“I am not he,” Dorian retorted, giving her a sharp look. “And trying to cozy up to him will do you no good. He’s leaving. Very soon.”

Though she opened her mouth to object, she realized that she really couldn’t. Even if she still had her titles, they didn’t mean anything down here. Still, it made her heart sink. Thane Blackwall could be rather harsh, from what she’d seen, and she never dealt well with harsh authority. Cullen had already saved her from challenging Thane Blackwall’s authority once, and she could easily see things turning out worse without him around to tell her when to bite her tongue.

Cullen’s face came to mind as she thought of her dealings with the thanes, the smile he’d given her before leaving, the way it had tugged on his scar, the way his longish curls had framed his face, his bare chest, highlighted even in mediocre lighting of the room…

Maker, now was not the time for such unbecoming feelings.

And besides, she was just being selfish and foolish. Every time she’d attempted to flirt, he’d given her such strange looks.

It was stupid to think about him, to want to commit his features to memory, and yet…

Another book flew past her head, and she scowled toward Dorian. “I’m working.”

“If you’re going to lie to me, at least pretend harder.”

With a roll of her eyes, Katrina bent her head forward and did her best to lose herself in the task at hand. Perhaps if she finished early, she could find some time to talk to Cullen again. Silly as it was.


	9. Separation Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Cullen led his warriors through the slowly thawing woods of the Frostback Mountains, gaze straight ahead, doing his best not to look as horribly glum as he felt. He was going home. They all were. That was what mattered, wasn’t it? A thane shouldn’t dawdle in another’s hold, leaving his open to attack. He had responsibilities to tend to, an image to maintain.  

And it wasn’t like anything could have happened between him and Katrina, anyway. Even if he could argue that he had, in a sense, caught and ‘stolen’ her from the Lowlands, he hadn’t made the claim when he needed to. At best, he could have brought her back to his hold as a guest, and she’d have been little more than a temporary romp in the sheets—assuming she would even want their relationship to be of such a nature.

He’d never even gotten a chance to ask her. He could still see the way she’d looked as she’d talked to him about his hunts. He could see the way she’d turned away from him, her gaze lingering until she couldn’t hold it any longer, as he’d taken those ill-fated steps after her, following her into the one part of the keep that he should have never gone unattended.

They’d left yesterday, before noon, and the Red Lions were making good time. Another week and they’d be home.

So why did each thud of Gunvor’s hooves on the thawing winter ground feel like someone hanging chains around his neck?

The world passed them without him making much of a note of anything—they were still in Shadow Wolf territory, and he didn’t see a point in memorizing the layout. After all, if they ever decided to raid Thane Blackwall’s hold—Mia’s hold—they wouldn’t be taking such a direct route.

As they trod onward, with a few idle conversations providing a rolling loll in his ears, he heard someone draw their horse closer. He could smell the beast, hear the creaking of the leather saddle. He kept his gaze straight ahead, knowing exactly who it would be.

“This was for the best, Cullen.” Her voice was harsh, matter-of-fact as always. When he didn’t respond, he heard her make a faint huff. It wasn’t the disgusted sound she usually reserved for anything she believed to be poor judgment, and that finally drew his gaze toward her.

She wasn’t much different from usual: her shoulders were squared back as always, leathers and armor in place, every strap and tie perfect, and her hair was a wild mop crowned with that familiar braid. However, her face, usually drawn and serious, showed the slightest hints of concern. That perfect line her lips made dipped down further ever so slightly at the corners, her brow pinched just a hair together, the hint of a worry line visible betwixt them when the light hit her face just right.

She was genuinely concerned.

“I’m sure,” he finally forced himself to say. Even he couldn’t buy such an obvious lie.

Cassandra’s frown deepened even further, for just a breath. She let her own gaze wander ahead. “If one thing is constant, it is that everything changes. Your misery will not last forever.” She paused before adding. “Perhaps you should steal a proper wife. You are thane. It would do to have an heir, unless you want fighting for the title when it’s time for you to give it up.”

“I’m well aware of what I am.” It came out harsher than he’d meant, and he almost winced as his gaze flickered toward Cassandra again. If he’d offended her, she made no show of it.

“So you say,” she murmured, already pulling on her horse’s reins to drop back, “yet here you are brooding like a young boy who’s been told he’s too young to go on a hunt.”

Cullen chose not to let his gaze follow her back, though he did bristle slightly at her comments. He wasn’t acting childish. He was doing what needed to be done, wasn’t he?

He was in little mood for further conversation, even once they’d set up camp for the night. Two of his warriors had wanted to press on, not trusting the Wolves to let them go in peace, but Cullen was confident that even with his blunder, they would still be allowed safe passage home. After all, they had held up their end of the bargain and—loathe as he was to admit it—Thane Blackwall had honor.

He was more surprised than anything that Thane Blackwall had still allowed his people to take their compensation for their assistance with the raid—the trunks and cloths and leathers that filled them would bring smiles to those at his hold, for certain.

Rosalie would no doubt be disappointed that they hadn’t received any trinkets from the Lowlands—as the youngest, she’d always clung to a fascination with the Lowlands, much as their mother had. It was her way of keeping their mother’s memory alive, or so Cullen assumed. Avvar didn’t generally covet material items beyond those needed for survival, but Rosalie had inherited their mother’s stash of hair pins and ribbons and other odds and ends that their father had gotten her.

Whoever decided to steal Rosalie was going to have a miserable time getting her out of the hold if they tried to leave her things behind.

She would have loved to meet an actual Lowlander…

Cullen frowned as his thoughts circled back to Katrina. He really couldn’t get her out of his head. Just as he was about to excuse himself to go glare at the ceiling in his tent, someone sat next to him by the fire and held out a mug of ale. Cullen frowned as he looked down at it and then let his gaze wander up the muscular arm to see who was bothering him.

When Cullen simply waved away the drink, Jim cocked his head, appraising him. His shoulders were a little tense, an irritated pinch between his brow when he finally spoke. “The way that wench has you under a spell makes me wonder if she’s some sort of Lowland’s witch.”

Cullen stared at Jim, mouth a thin line, his brow lowering slowly.

Turning to watch the fire dance in front of them, Jim shrugged a little, as though wishing to take back what he’d said and escape his thane’s dark gaze. “I don’t get why you didn’t just steal her.”

“We both caught her and—”

“I meant steal her from the Wolves,” Jim interrupted, giving him a nervous, crooked grin before growing serious again. “I doubt she’d fight you. Korth’s teeth, she’d probably carry _you_ out of the hold.”

Cullen couldn’t help a small laugh at the image that brought to mind. He could picture Katrina attempting to lug him along, thin arms wrapped around his waist and trying to heave him into the air. He doubted such an endeavor would end well, though.

Hesitantly, he glanced at Jim. “She’s a Lowlander, though. They have different traditions. I don’t know that she’d want to be an Avvar’s bride.”

“You won’t know unless you try,” Jim pointed out with a shrug. His gift of ale rejected, he began to drink it instead. “And I think you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

“Taking her would cause problems between the clans,” Cullen said, before he could allow himself to get too caught up in possibilities.

To that, Jim scoffed. “Let it. The bastards know what they did, even if they won’t own up to it.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Cassandra cut in on their conversation, taking a seat on Cullen’s other side. Most of the others had already headed to bed, leaving the three of them around the campfire. Cassandra had taken the first watch—Cullen might not think the Wolves would attack them outright, but he still wasn’t going to leave his camp unprotected—and she would be up for a while anyway. “The way they whispered in their hold, they act as though they think we were the ones who started everything.”

“What good would that have done us?” Jim spat.

Cassandra, however, didn’t seem willing to back down. It occurred to Cullen that she hadn’t been present when the…incident had happened, so her feelings on it were likely not as strong as his or Jim’s. “What good would it have done them? Both clans lost the Caverns in the end, did we not?”

The three of them fell to silence for a moment before Cullen reached up to scratch the back of his neck, his gaze unfocused as he stared into the fire. “Mia wanted to have peace talks come the end of Spring. She thought there was real hope. I don’t know if she still wants to, the way they kicked us out, but… I think there might be something worth pursuing there.”

“It _would_ help our own hold if we didn’t have to worry about them being so hostile,” Cassandra murmured, a slight hint of approval in her voice.

“If I steal Katrina, I doubt we’d be able to have any real peace talks,” Cullen conceded to himself, shoulders slumping. “I…” He felt something twist inside of him as he finally admitted it to himself, “I may want her, but they _need_ her.”

“To read books,” Jim groused. “I may not be a Lowlander, but I’m pretty sure that can be done anywhere, can’t it? They give you a few books, she reads them. Then she can trade off, update them with what she’s found, get new books to read.”

“And how would I convey that to them if I’m stealing her?” Cullen asked, brow quirked. “The whole point is to not be caught. Kind of defeats the purpose if I walk up and say I’m taking her, but you don’t need to worry.”

“You are a smart man,” Cassandra offered, rising from her seat to begin a short patrol around the outskirts of their tents. “I’m sure, if you truly want her, you will think of a way.”

With a smirk, Cullen watched her recede from the firelight. “Does that mean I have your blessing to doom our hold with a Lowlander’s presence, Cassandra?”

In response, she let out a guttural grunt from the back of her throat as she kept walking, her figure disappearing into the shadows around the camp. Despite the sound, there was still that hint of approval in her voice when she called out, “I know you will do as you will.”

Looking back at Jim, Cullen quirked his brow. “And you won’t be sore that the woman who broke your nose is living in our hold?”

“Plenty of people have broken my nose, my thane,” Jim shrugged. “I don’t hold most grudges long.”

Their conversation turned away from Katrina as they spent a few more minutes chatting beside the fire before Jim retired for the evening, leaving Cullen to sit by himself. He watched the flames dance before him, mulling over what could be done.

Then, a thought occurred to him: if he wanted to steal Katrina, he would need to do it now, when the Wolves’ keep was still barely more than a day’s hard ride away. Slipping to the perimeter of the camp, he found Cassandra as she walked quietly along, peering into the shadows, watching for signs of beasts or Avvar, anything that might endanger their sleeping companions.

“I’m going to need you to lead our warriors for a day or two.”

“Of course.”

…-…

Katrina flipped a page, staring down at the words scribbled across it without really paying attention to what it said.

That inconsiderate…

“Good thing you haven’t any magic, or that book would be burning,” Dorian called to her, sitting back against the far wall as he made a few notes on a piece of scrap paper in regards to what was happening in the journal he was translating.

“Is it common in Avvar culture to leave without a word?” She snapped before she could stop herself.

Dorian slowly looked up to stare at her blankly. “You’re…still on about that? Really?”

“I could try to understand, if it’s a cultural thing. But where I’m from it’s… It’s rude is what it is,” Katrina muttered. “You don’t tell someone you’re going to be there for them and then just ride off into the sunset, hands washed of the whole ordeal.”

“Not really what happened,” Dorian muttered, gaze dropping back to his work. “He was never going to stay very long anyway. Yours was a doomed friendship from the beginning.”

Katrina drummed her fingers on the back of the journal in her hands, staring at a rather droll paragraph that detailed a group of hawks migrating to find better hunting grounds. It was so… mundane. Like she cared what some birds did thousands of miles from where she lived. This had nothing to do with helping the Avvar or saving her sister.

Perhaps, though…

Perhaps it was some code? The hawks might be representative of a type of military faction or a smuggling ring?

But then why involve the Avvar?

Just as she considered that perhaps their involvement really was just to unknowingly dispose of the evidence, a book cracked into the wall next to her head.

“I won’t miss next time.”

“You are a terror,” she muttered back, throwing the book back at Dorian. It bounced harmlessly off the wall over a foot from his head.

He gave her a most disappointed look before picking it up and placing it back on a stack that sat beside him.

As though he hadn’t started it.

“And you, my dear Lady Lowlander, are a headache.” As he kept writing, he added, “Our hold’s lady suggested chaining you to the wall to show you we’re serious about you doing your part, but I told her I didn’t think that would end well for anyone. You’d probably curse so much that the Gods left us just to have some peace and quiet.”

Katrina scoffed, picking at the fur lining on her vest. Even with the undershirt and vest, gloves and boots, and thick pants, she was still freezing. She had a cloak as well, but it did little to keep the cold out. How could the Avvar stand it out here? Dorian kept telling her that it was warming up, but she couldn’t tell. It felt as miserably cold today as it had the days before.

Perhaps, though, it was something else keeping her cold. Perhaps it was that same thing that had left her oddly crushed when she’d asked to speak with Cullen—she’d wanted to apologize for getting him in trouble—and had been told he’d left. When they’d told her, she’d instantly thought back to his smiles, his reassurances, the times he’d helped her—mostly restraining her as she tried to do something stupid.

Maker, it was no wonder he’d left without a goodbye.

She was the terror, not Dorian.

A juvenile, belligerent terror…

“I’m reading!” She snapped when she heard the soft rustle of paper as Dorian picked up another book on the other side of the room. However, even as she spoke, the next book thudded lightly against her shoulder. At least he’d thrown it softly.

When she glanced over at him, he had a smirk in place, though his gaze was on his work.

How did the Avvar have such an avid reader in their midst? Even they’d admitted that they weren’t ones for reading.

The book he had tossed at her had landed open on her lap, on top of the other book she’d been reading. Even as she went to throw it back, a small phrase caught her attention and she stopped, leaning down to read through what it said.

_The littlest lamb made quite the fool of itself, trying to follow in that great red ram’s footsteps._

It wasn’t much. It could easily have been about some wild sheep or… that was what rams were, right? Sheep?

Katrina paused, briefly considering that she really had no clue when it came to animals. However, as she tried to think on it, abruptly, a memory bubbled back up.

She’d just arrived in Val Royeaux, and had been staying in one of the plainer inns—despite being nobility, Katrina had always fit in better with a rougher crowd, often enjoying the company of a full tavern to that of fellow nobles in a sitting room. As she’d headed to bed after a few drinks, having been able to procure an audience with the empress in a few days’ time had left her with a sense of triumph that required some brief revelry, she’d heard two hushed voices at the door she thought was her room.

She’d paused, listening, wondering if it was one of her father’s servants sent to retrieve her before she could make a fool of herself.

“… _can’t believe he might actually think he can bring his family back into good graces, especially after what his father did_.” A man had protested, sounding aghast as he spoke.

A woman had laughed lightly. “ _He’s as hard headed as that old Great Red Ram_.”

“ _I can see how he got the title_ ,” the man had laughed. “ _He certainly did hit his head against the wall enough times_.”

“ _Until it broke his neck_ ,” the woman twittered back, smug. “ _You know how that really happened, don’t you?_ ”

Slightly inebriated as she was, it had taken a moment or two before Katrina had realized these people had nothing to do with her, and that this was not actually her room. Once she’d made that actualization, she’d departed, teetering her way down the hall until she came to her door. Then she’d opened the door to see that it looked like someone had rifled through her things and had all but forgotten the idle gossip she’d overheard as she checked to make sure all her belongings were still there.

After that, she’d headed to one of the higher end inns, hoping that security would be better and that she’d be able to keep what she needed until she could present it to the empress.

Katrina cursed under her breath as she picked up the journal, flipping back a few pages to try to see if she could find anything telling about the lamb and the great red ram mentioned in the book. So engrossed in her search was she that she didn’t notice as Thane Blackwall and Mia entered the room.

“Katrina!”

Dorian’s voice in her ear finally jolted her out of her thoughts, and her head snapped up, nose nearly smashing into the augur’s. The three Avvar stared down at her, varying degrees of bewilderment mirroring her own.

“Dorian, these books aren’t about animals at all. They’re about people.”

“Well, that’s not really that surprising,” he murmured, rocking back a little to put space between them.

As he crossed his arms, she tapped the journal he’d hit her with. “I don’t know this lord’s name, but he’s aristocracy in Orlais. These are coded documentations of his and his family’s actions.” She ran her fingers through her hair, frowning. “I’m not from Orlais, so I don’t know the nicknames for their nobles, but…” She paused, shaking her head. She shifted her attention to the journal she’d been looking through earlier. “This one refers to a family of hawks that had to—”

“Hawks are solitary animals,” Mia interrupted.

“Did I not just say that they represent nobility?” Katrina snapped back. “Clearly, they’re not really hawks. They had to move apparently, because they were crowded out of their ‘hunting grounds’.”

Thane Blackwall knelt beside her, staring uselessly at the book she was talking about. “What does it say exactly?” When Katrina read a few paragraphs, he let out a string of what she could only guess were swears in Avvar. She was picking those up from being around Dorian, but still wasn’t sure which word meant what. “Those _are_ Hawks. They’re the White Feather Hawks, another Avvar tribe. I remember them passing through our territories and talking about… that.” He pointed angrily at the book she was holding.

Katrina shifted a little where she sat. “So these are notes on everyone from or near Orlais then.”

“I’m curious,” Dorian said, squatting beside Katrina. He nodded toward her with his chin. “Does your family have an animal affiliated with you?”

“Our family seal has a lark,” Katrina offered, then frowned. “Though I know people called my father a vulture when they weren’t happy with him.” She paused and shook her head. “I don’t know if these journals would extend to the Free Marches, though. We do have interactions with Orlais, but nothing serious enough that we’d be…”

With a frown, Dorian cocked his head and motioned to himself and his fellow Avvar. “And we have so much to do with them?”

“Don’t you tend to steal their belongings all the time or something through raids?” Katrina asked, shrugging a little. “Seems like they’d be more likely to go after you in vengeance rather than some random noble family in Starkhaven.”

Mia crossed her arms. “if they can’t guard their things, they don’t deserve them.”

“And I see I’ve offended our lady’s delicate sensibilities,” Katrina muttered.

Shifting her weight, Mia put a hand on her hip, glaring down at Katrina. “Thane Magicsbane is no longer here for you to hide behind. You might want to curb that attitude.”

“By all means, kill me,” Katrina replied, putting a hand over her heart. “I’m sure Dorian can keep my corpse viable long enough to read all… these… tomes…” She motioned around them. “And if not, you can always take a road trip a few thousand miles north and find someone else who speaks Antivan.” She tugged her shirt. “You might want to pack light, though, dear lady. You’d die of heatstroke wearing all that fur.” She paused. “Or do you just melt?”

While Mia seemed ready to smack Katrina—something Katrina was not at all unfamiliar with—Thane Blackwall held out a hand, keeping his wife back. “She has a point. There’s no reason for this attitude when it will only get you in trouble.”

“Maybe you should have kept the other thane around, then. I liked him more than you.” Katrina shrugged lightly. “Not nearly as condescending and rude.”

Mia looked most puzzled, shifting a little as she eyed Katrina. “But… you can’t play them against one another any longer.”

Katrina stared at her blankly. “I can’t… what?” She let the words roll around in her head for a moment and then scowled. “If I had any sense for that miserable, damned Game, I wouldn’t be freezing out here right now, now would I? We Free Marchers are damned well better than that. We don’t trap ourselves in all this nonsense.” She added under her breath, “I thought you Avvar were better than that, too.”

With a huff, Mia shook her head. “Have you found any journals about wolves? Or lions?”

“Not yet,” Dorian said, glancing at Katrina and then repeating his words when she shook her head. “We’ll keep looking, though.”

“You think the journal may say why they involved you, rather than just that they did?” Katrina asked, allowing her anger at Mia’s accusations to simmer.

Thane Blackwall nodded once. “We can hope.”

Her desire to make a snappy comment at whatever he had to say died as he spoke. Even if he had insulted Amelia and been little more than a prat in the time she’d known him, she couldn’t be cruel when he was that honest. When it had been her family ensnared with Orlesian politics, she’d done everything she could to make things right. The thane and his people were just trying to do the same. It really _didn’t_ make sense for her to be so unmanageable.

Grudgingly, she turned her attention once again to the volume about the Hawk clan. When she spoke, she still sounded grouchy, as though the words themselves were some sort of defeat. “It’ll likely take a while, but—as I already said I would—I’ll try to find something for you.”

She didn’t know if the thane and his lady appreciated her shift or not, but they did leave her and Dorian to their work. The two read well into the night before they could fight back sleep no more. Katrina had been moved to one of the honorary rooms in the Thane’s home—she suspected it had less to do with honor and more to do with keeping an eye on her—and Dorian walked her there before heading off to his hut.

She didn’t remember laying down, nor falling asleep.

However, when she woke with a start, she could remember that her dreams had involved Cullen, not that she could remember them well. He’d been shirtless, holding his hand out to her, that reassuring smile in place as he said something she hadn’t been able to make out as a snow storm had rolled in.

Even as she cursed herself, realizing that she must have kicked off her blanket as she’d turned in her sleep, she heard a noise from out in the hall.

In her hazy, half-awake stupor, stories sprung up that she’d thought long forgotten. She could hear her mother and a few other ladies twittering away about their latest romance serial, where the lady was whisked off to be a bride.

The Avvar stole their wives, didn’t they?

In that sleepy single-mindedness, her thoughts wound back to Cullen, and she sat up, barely realizing that she’d fallen asleep on top of her blankets, rather than under them, with her clothes still on. It was a wonder she hadn’t frozen to death.

However, that notion was gone soon as she heard another noise and then saw the curtain to her room move and a large, dark figure slip into the room. Narrowing her eyes and trying to blink the sleep from them, she tried to see clearer in the dark.

“Cullen?”


	10. A Little Help

Cullen wasn't far from the Shadow Wolves' keep, so he slowed Gunvor's pace, keeping an eye out for any hunters or scouts who might be out making sure no one snuck up on their hold. While Cullen still participated in regular raids on other holds—it would be unbecoming for the thane to sit those out—he couldn't help but feel that he was going to mess this one up. After all, most of the time, if there was a raid to steal brides, there were several raiders going in at once. Knowing that chaos could spring up anywhere in the hold at any time was an odd sort of comfort.

Now, however, it would just be Cullen.

And what if, when he snuck in to see Katrina, he startled her, and she cried out? What if she didn't want to come? He wouldn't force her to; he'd already decided that much.

So much could go wrong.

Raiders looking for brides were supposed to get two chances, though he doubted he would be afforded such, especially considering that he hadn't asked permission to steal Katrina. More likely than not, he would be fed to the Wolves' hold beast for his insolence.

He'd just have to make sure not to get caught.

And that meant he needed to leave Gunvor for a while. He would need to hide his steed somewhere where scouts wouldn't likely look.

Quietly, he cursed himself for not having taken a better survey of the land on his way home. It would have helped tremendously now.

Would she actually want to come with him, though?

What if she thought being stolen was barbaric? What if she had some fiancé or lover back home? They'd only ever talked about her sister, never any love interests.

How fool was he that he was actually doing this?

Cullen still hadn't figured out what he would do to keep the Shadow Wolves from killing him in retribution for this. Perhaps he could get Katrina to leave a note for them? 'Send some books, and I'll keep my end of the bargain'? Would it even count as stealing her if they left a note about where she was going?

This whole ordeal was so… unprecedented.

Precedence was something Cullen had always liked being able to fall back on. Not knowing left knots in his stomach, and doubt whispered in his mind. It told him that as thane he should just go back, forget this boyish idiocy.

But what was the point of living if he couldn't ever do something just for himself?

Just as he was deciding that perhaps he should leave Gunvor near a particularly thick grove of trees, he noticed that the ground he was passing over to get to it was turned up as though a great many horses had gone through, the tracks preserved in the frozen mud.

It was fresh. The tracks headed away from the Shadow Wolves' hold, though it wasn't the path his people had taken when they'd left. Regardless, he almost dismissed it as a hunting party, when he noticed something hanging from a lower branch above the path. Pulling Gunvor to it, he lightly plucked part of a large, extravagant feather from the newly budding branch.

It took him a moment to recognize the plumage.

It had been on every chevalier's helm that he had fought during the raid when he had initially saved Katrina.

Had the Orlesians followed them all the way back to the hold?

He'd thought they'd finished off the Lowlanders.

Cullen dismounted briefly to double check the direction the hoof prints were going in and frowned when he saw that they were indeed headed away from Shadow Wolf Keep.

Had it been a reconnaissance mission? It seemed like a great many people for something as simple as a scouting mission. There were bits of ash mixed in with the mud as well, occasionally, as though it had fallen off the riders or gotten caught in the horses' hooves.

This… was an ill omen if he'd ever seen one.

Indecision gripped him.

Part of him wanted nothing more than to cast aside the issue as it didn't matter to his clan. If there was chaos in the Wolves' hold, he could use that to his advantage.

However, another part of him won out: the part that couldn't let Mia's hold be overwhelmed by Lowlanders. Mounting Gunvor, he began to follow the trail. If it seemed to go nowhere, he'd give up on it, but if not…

Thane Blackwall would likely want to know how close the chevaliers were getting to his hold, assuming they hadn't already hit it. He glanced over his shoulder as he rode, wondering if he should go back to the hold and…

And what?

A single body wouldn't make much of a difference in any repairs needed to the hold. And it would likely raise more questions as to why he was there to begin with.

No, it would be better to follow the chevaliers, make sure they weren't a legitimate threat, and then find a way to steal Katrina.

Perhaps this would prove to just be some foolish noble's hunting party that had gotten horribly lost in the woods. They were weeks away from the 'official' Orlesian borders, but that hardly stopped the fools from wandering where they didn't belong.

He'd heard stories of such expeditions. Some noble prat got it in his head that he wanted to bag a larger wyvern, and wandered into Avvar territory to do it, ignoring the fact that trespassers were rarely well met, and then crying home to whoever it was who listened when he ended up having his horse stolen out from under him.

Sometimes, there was even retaliation against whatever clan had defended its territory, but if it got bad enough, the clan simply moved. It was a part of life in the mountains, after all.

It was almost nightfall when he caught up to the Orlesians. He nearly rode straight into the sight of a scout near their camp, narrowly pulling Gunvor's reins back before he could be spotted. He rode his steed back a few dozen yards before dismounting and heading closer to investigate.

The scout might have been worth something in the supposedly open, rolling plains of the Lowlands, but here in the wooded mountains, he could barely keep track of himself. He kept sniffling and glaring at the ground as his boots squikked into the mud that was replacing the snow.

The man seemed to be focused almost completely on the path they'd left, as though knowing that it was easy to follow and fully expecting someone to do just that.

Cullen snuck up behind him easily, snapping his neck before the man even realized what was going on. Sneaking past where he'd been pacing, Cullen drew closer to see several tents being erected. One of the men kept glancing around, clinging to his blade as he shivered in his armor.

When he complained in Orlesian, another snapped at him as he hammered a stake into the ground for his tent. Cullen knew a few Orlesian words, but he could barely speak it at all. They might as well have been bears growling at one another for all he could understand.

However, what bothered him the most about their camp was that they didn't seem concerned about retaliation from the Shadow Wolves. They were barely a day from an Avvar hold that they _had_ to be aware of, and they thought it safe enough to stop?

Perhaps this _was_ some sort of reconnaissance mission after all. If they hadn't struck yet, they might not expect the Wolves to be aware of them…

A woman was tending to a wound on another's arm, chastising him and thwacking him on the head as she stitched up a long gash.

There was obvious wear on all of their armor, though only a one of the breastplates and helms indicated the rank of chevalier. The rest were soldiers, for sure, though he didn't know what rank they might hold. Whatever they were, they were beneath the chevalier.

Cullen did a quick head count before slinking back into the woods.

There were six of them—seven with the scout he'd already handled.

It would be foolish to charge in, but he didn't want to leave them, either. He was decent with a bow, but he wasn't confident that he could take out enough of them before they found where he was hiding in the trees. He could fight, but even he wasn't stupid enough to attempt these odds.

He made his way back to where he'd killed the scout and carefully dragged the body further away—it wouldn't do to have them finding evidence that he was here. If he was lucky, he could pick them off as they wandered out to look for their friend.

He might be able to take out two or three before they realized what was happening.

Then he could take out the last few in close combat.

Assuming they didn't all move as a group the second the second one went missing. With a frown, he ran his hands down his face, thinking it over.

He needed help.

It was as he considered that he shouldn't have come up alone that he felt a hand on his shoulder. Whirling, his blade was half drawn before he realized just who was kneeling beside him, eyes wide.

He stared at her in bewilderment. "Cassandra."

"Thane."

His lips moved wordlessly for a moment before he was able to find his voice. "What are you doing here?"

"A few hours after you left, one of the Shadow Wolves' scouts caught up with us and asked for our help," Cassandra motioned over her shoulder. Three of the Red Lion warriors were with her. "We sent Jim and two others back to the hold to warn them that things are far more complicated than they should be and the rest of us followed the scout's directions. We didn't want to leave you vulnerable."

"Who's the scout who told you to come here?" And how had they known the Orlesians would be camping here, of all places? It seemed like, if anything, Cassandra and the others would have ended back up at the keep instead of where Cullen was.

"He…" Cassandra's brow knit together as she tried to think of what had happened. "He was a young man." She hesitated, thinking back a little longer before shifting her weight. "I can't remember what he looked like. He said the Orlesians hit the hold and then scattered. They needed help going after the different groups, and one had headed in this direction."

"And you believed him?" Cullen frowned. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful that they were there, but this was still… odd.

As soon as Cullen pointed it out, Cassandra seemed bothered by the fact that they had so readily broken their course for home and come to the rescue as they had. Her gaze wandered away from him as her brow pinched together. "When he spoke, we just knew that he was telling the truth. It never occurred to me to question him."

Even as Cullen was about to try to get more information, he decided that now was hardly the time. There was no need to leave themselves open to attack while trying to figure out how the Shadow Wolves had known where the Orlesians would be.

He looked at Cassandra, motioning with his head toward the lowlander camp. "It's six to five."

With a smirk, Cassandra lifted her chin. "Good odds."

"Do you think the Wolves want any alive?"

"From what that scout said, no. They hit the hold, attacking people regardless of age or skill with a blade," Cassandra muttered, a disgusted noise catching in her throat as she glared in the general direction of the Lowlanders.

Cullen set his jaw, mulling it over. Then, he turned to his other warriors. "We'll split up and surround the camp. Arrows first. We may be able to take them all out before they can even know what's hitting them."

It was as though the Wolves' Gods had chosen to favor them, for their enemies were barely able to react after the first barrage of arrows came in. Despite the chevalier spotting Cullen's warriors and nearly getting to Cassandra, all of the Lowlanders were dead before any had gotten close enough to so much as nick any of the Avvar.

They'd brought it upon themselves, coming this far out of their territories.

And if they'd truly attacked the defenseless, as Cassandra had been told…

Cullen and his warriors entered the camp cautiously, in case they'd somehow missed a few—or if the Lowlanders had been smart enough to send a few of their team out to hunt for dinner—but it was still, and there was no sign that any other than that solitary scout had been assigned outside of the camp.

All in all, it was rather poorly done.

More bizarre actions on the Lowlanders' parts.

Kneeling beside one of the last to fall, he began to rummage through the man's satchels on his belt. "Look around, and see if you can find orders or…any paper really. Lowlanders do love to write everything down."

Except for Katrina.

It was the first time since he'd caught up to the Lowlanders that he'd really thought of Katrina, and he paused, wondering what would happen now. They'd need to return to the Shadow Wolves—perhaps he could send a few more of his people home, to make it clear that they weren't threatening them—but if the woods were crawling with Lowlanders…

Then it might be better for Katrina to be elsewhere anyway.

Korth's teeth, don't let Thane Blackwall _ask_ him to take her home with him. That would ruin everything.

He took in a breath, trying to get himself to think of one thing at a time. The Lowlander camp first, and then he could worry about his ridiculous infatuation.

Even as one of his warriors brought him a note only partially stained with blood, an arrow thudded into the tent beside him.

In a breath, he and his warriors had their weapons drawn.

However, as he looked toward where it had come from, he saw the Shadow Wolves' Master of the Hunt step into the clearing, a few hunters following his lead, arrows notched.

Cullen tried to remember the man's name before nodding to him. "Nathaniel. We're here to help."

"I'm sure we'd be grateful if you weren't supposed to be around two days southwest of here," Nathaniel replied, eyes narrowed as he stopped far enough away that his next arrow would still have a decent impact if he chose to let it loose. "Any reason you decided to stay where you're not welcome?"

"Your scout sent for us," Cullen said, frowning. He hoped the young man—whoever he was—wouldn't notice that Cullen hadn't been among the ones he'd recruited. He dared a glance toward Cassandra to see if she might point out the one who had gone to them for help from the Avvar with Nathaniel, but she didn't seem to recognize any of them, instead standing with her hand on her sword, knees bent slightly, ready to break into a charge on command.

"One of our scouts got you?" Nathaniel asked, lips twisting into a disgusted sneer as he appraised Cullen with open contempt. "We were attacked last night. Who could we have sent to get to you in time to get you to come here? How could we have known they'd have come this way?"

There was that detail, resurfacing.

Cullen had been hoping the Wolves would be able to explain that one.

Cassandra—angered by the suggestion that they had lied about how they'd gotten there—took a step forward, ignoring as the Wolves' bows lifted. "The boy said we needed to come here. That you needed help."

Even as Nathaniel seemed ready to dismiss them and tell his hunters to fire, one of Cullen's other warriors cleared her throat, "The boy never actually said he was a Wolf. Just that they needed help."

For a moment, silence reigned over the small clearing. Nathaniel somehow managed to narrow his eyes further. "What did he look like?"

"I… can't remember," Cassandra said, her voice a bit flat.

Lowering his weapon, Cullen sheathed it, holding his hands up toward the Master of the Hunt. "If we were working with the Lowlanders, we wouldn't have killed them, would we? We heard there was trouble, and came to help. We're as confused as you about what led us here, but we're here, willing to offer our blades to your cause."

Nathaniel shifted a little in his stance, still ready to shoot. Then, one of his hunters slipped up beside him and whispered something in his ear, all the while glancing nervously at Cullen and the other Lions. Abruptly, Nathaniel lowered his bow. "This is a fraction of the ones who attacked us. If you're really here to help, then help."

Cullen nodded. "The Lowlanders attacked your hold then?"

At first it seemed like the mere question had undone the tenuous truce they'd just come to. However, finally, Nathaniel nodded, lips dipped into a wicked grimace. "They came for the journals and our translator."

Cullen felt a knot twist in his stomach. "Is she alright?"

"I wouldn't know," Nathaniel shrugged, motioning for them to come with them, heading back to where they'd left their horses. "They took her."

…-…

Memories came and went in a jumble of images and smells, pains and sounds. Katrina couldn't help but feel a familiarity with the chaos bouncing about in her head, and had the oddest impression that there was someone there with her, working diligently to push the pieces back into a more ordered pattern.

And through all of it, there was a despicable taste that Katrina couldn't quite get to go away, and an occasional, sharp throb that made all the images, smells, and sounds scatter and rearrange.

Katrina could remember Cullen coming to get her—no. That wasn't right. She'd been thinking about Cullen coming to get her when someone had come in. Even as she'd felt the sensation of butterflies in her stomach, he approached her in her darkened room, and she'd realized that whoever it was, it wasn't Cullen.

That's right. He'd left. The hold, her, the mess with the Lowlanders. It wasn't his clan's problem, so he'd gone home, despite what he'd told her. Despite…

She wasn't really upset about that, though, was she? It was more that she'd been disowned, had no real place, was being hunted, and then the first friendly face turned out to be just as callous as the rest of the world.

She ignored the butterflies that tried to come back at the thought of the Avvar thane, squelching them down.

It hadn't been Cullen. It had been a soldier. An Orlesian.

She tried to focus on what had happened after that. It was still a whirl of senses.

There had been burning. A pain in her stomach as someone—that soldier—carried her over his shoulder.

And to be completely candid, even if it _had_ been Cullen, she wouldn't have been very happy at that moment. It was quite uncomfortable to be slung over someone like that. Something metallic had dug into her stomach with each brisk step.

Then she'd...what had she done? It didn't make sense, but she remembered being free, running. People were screaming, metal was clanging, flames consuming.

It had been different from the Avvar's raid—from what she had seen. Many of the Avvar she could remember were poorly equipped for a fight, their armor missing or their gentle bodies hinting that they weren't the type to go out and fend off the world. They were the homemakers.

Some were children.

And they were fighting for their lives as their homes burned.

Katrina's world came into clearer focus as she remembered that.

After the Orlesian had shown up, she'd managed to undo one of the pouches on his belt and use it to club him in the back of the head. Then she'd fled, searching for help, only to find the hold in flames.

She'd felt useless, unsure what to do—where to hide—when she'd seen a young girl knocked back into a wall, the dagger she'd been using to defend herself thudding into the mud near her. She couldn't have been more than twelve. Even as she raised her arms to try to block against whatever attack came next, Katrina had lunged forward, catching her attacker off guard and tackling him to the ground.

As the bastard tried to get up, the dagger from before sunk into his forehead with a sickening squik. His eyes blanked, and he fell into the snow.

Katrina had turned to the girl. " _Is there a place we can go that's safe_?"

She hadn't understood the common tongue.

With a curse, Katrina had heard Orlesian shouts getting closer. More soldiers. They couldn't honestly be the Comte's, could they? This seemed like too many.

Pointing at the girl, she thought back to the words she'd managed to pick up in Avvar—it hadn't been much, considering they wanted her translating other languages, rather than learning theirs. " _You go_."

She stared past Katrina for a moment before nodding once and turning to run. Even then, she thought better of it and darted up to Katrina, motioning to the dagger and saying...

Maker, she needed to learn the fucking language.

After all, it was what she did, one of the few things that her parents had dared to be proud of her for. She was fluent in the common tongue, Orlesian, Antivan, Tevene, and had been working on Rivaini—though she still couldn't string more than a sentence or two together in the last one.

She'd often suspected that was the reason her parents had forgiven as many of her mishaps as they had. She was the one in the family who could translate all the letters that came in, and could tell when foreign dignitaries and businessfolk were trying to rip them off or deceive them—so many people made smart ass comments in their native tongues when they were sure no one around them could understand. It was ridiculous.

Katrina had gathered the gist of what the Avvar girl had been trying to say, though. Jerking the dagger free from where it rested, Katrina had briefly inspected the soldier's armor, noting that the crest on it wasn't familiar, and turned to face the oncoming Orlesians.

Part of her wanted to run with the girl, but they'd just catch up and kill them both. Maybe this way, they'd lose track of the girl, or she'd get to someone who could protect her.

One of the soldiers had laughed when he'd seen her, his own sword easily reaching further and giving him the advantage.

However, Katrina hadn't been about to go down without a fight.

She'd always been stubborn.

She'd managed to dodge his attacks, keeping herself in his way as others drew closer. Her odds had been abysmal when they'd been one on one, but when backup had shown up for her enemy...

When one of them lunged in, she managed to duck under his blade and then bring hers up, digging it in behind his ear as he stumbled past her, surprised at her spryness.

As another two ran at her, an arrow had struck into one's chest.

Quite abruptly, Thane Blackwall had been darting past her, blade cutting through the other soldier's neck.

Even as he let out a bellowing shout and charged further into the fray, a hand had gripped Katrina's shoulder.

It was a little shameful how easily Mia disarmed Katrina when she whirled around to defend herself in a panic. Mia had muttered something—likely unflattering—in her native tongue before motioning for Katrina to come with her. " _You are too important to die here. And too inept to live through the fight. Come_."

At that memory, Katrina's brow pinched together as she tried to sit up and found she couldn't bring her hands up in front of her.

It took a moment or two as she gathered her wits, looking around slowly, finally taking in her surroundings.

Her hands were tied behind her. Her feet were bound as well, and that distractingly disgusting taste in her mouth was a gag.

Finally fully aware, Katrina let her head thunk back to the ground where she lay—only to instantly regret it as it made the pain in the back of her head hurt more for a minute or so. She was in a tent. An Orlesian one. No one was in it with her, but she could see shadows moving outside. She could hear voices, too. She listened long enough to hear them curse the 'barbarian fools' and deemed their opinions unworthy of her time.

Carefully, painfully, she managed to twist her hands down and pull her legs through her looped arms to bring her hands in front of her.

Thank the Maker that these idiots hadn't known how easily she'd gotten out of similar bindings before.

Granted, before, she'd had a sword.

But had also had frostbite.

So all in all, things were about even at the moment.

And her gloves—her cloak was missing, but they seemed to have left every other piece of clothing on her, thankfully—made the bindings a little less painful, as the leather blocked the coarse rope from rubbing directly against her skin. It was tight enough that she'd probably still have bruises, but likely no blisters or rope-burn.

She considered that a distinct plus.

Katrina pulled the gag down, doing her best not to make any loud gasping noises as she was finally freed of that wretched taste of dirty cloth, and then drew her feet up quietly so that she could pick at the knot.

Every time a shadow seemed to draw closer to her tent, she would still, waiting to see if they might come in to check on her and wondering if she should have kept the fucking gag in place after all.

However, every time they drew near, they would pause a moment—some even cut themselves off mid-sentence—and then walk away.

It was most peculiar.

Working the knot around her ankles loose as diligently as she could, her mind still kept wandering back to the attack on the hold.

What had happened to Mia?

She'd been with her and then...

It was fuzzy. The Orlesian soldiers—not all of them were chevaliers, she was sure—must have somehow managed to attack them from behind. That newly acquired ache in the back of her skull that certainly spoke to that effect.

She really needed to learn to fight better. Forever ago, an old friend—it felt like thinking back to anything in the Lowlands had been a lifetime ago, though it hadn't even been a month since she'd tried to flee Orlais—had attempted to teach her how to use daggers. "In case someone decides to assassinate you," he'd said.

She'd rather thought that had been a joke. It had never occurred to her that someone might actually do that. After all, she wasn't nearly important enough…

Shaking her head to get out of such useless thoughts, Katrina finally picked the knot apart and carefully drew one foot and then the other out of the bindings. Now all that was left was her hands.

Not that she had a clear way to get to the knot.

Was she going to have to chew it?

Maker, please don't make her need to chew it…

As she glanced around for any conveniently placed sharp objects—surprise, there were none—her mind again wandered back to that empty spot in her memory.

Closing her eyes, Katrina whispered, "Maker or…Lady or whoever out there watches and listens, please let Mia and Thane Blackwall…and their people in general, really…" she paused as she realized her prayer was turning into a bit of a ramble. She frowned, opening her eyes. "Please let them be alright. Even if they are asses."

Katrina drew in a breath as she thought she heard someone step closer to her tent. She really couldn't ever use her head, could she? She'd just _had_ to talk out loud. However, as she listened, she couldn't hear anyone nearby and let out a relieved curse under her breath.

She could figure out proper prayers and the like later. For now, she needed to get away from her latest kidnappers.

Even as she tried to twist one of her hands enough to fiddle with the knot, a dagger protruded into the back of the tent with a soft ripping noise. With a sucked in breath, she stared at it with wide eyes, unsure if it was a warning or…

It dragged down, tearing a neat, quiet hole into the tarp.

As soon as the dagger disappeared, pale fingers curled into the opening, pulling it carefully and quietly apart until a young man with shaggy blonde hair poked his head into the tent, large, pale blue eyes locking on her as he took a quick survey of enclosed space.

Katrina was sure she'd met him before, though she couldn't quite place where. Even as she tried to remember, he held a finger to his lips and motioned for her to follow him.

Without thinking, she did.

 


	11. Desperate Times

As the last body hit the ground, Nathaniel emerged from the woods, bow slung over his shoulder as he strode up to Cullen. As the Master of the Hunt gave him a short, nonchalant wave, Cullen wiped a bit of blood from his mouth. He'd taken a hit to the face with the pommel of one of the Orlesian's swords, but he hadn't let it slow him down. Now, as the fighting finally died down, he felt a sharp splintering ache in his cheek. He ran his tongue over his teeth to make sure none were broken and then sighed. 

These last few weeks had been one surprise after another. Unfortunately, almost all of the surprises had swords and a seeming distinct dislike for Avvar.

They’d stumbled across two more camps—one in the dead of night as they traveled back north, and one in the early morning as they’d chosen to give the Lowlander bastards as small a head start as possible. While they’d cleared the first one, this one was bigger, likely the bulk of the forces leaving the raid.

The arrogance that they’d assumed the Avvar wouldn’t retaliate as soon as they were able was… astounding.

Cullen idly counted the number of tents and then glanced at the bodies that were already being gathered to be burned. They didn’t care if other Lowlanders saw the smoke. Let them know that they were little more than animals to be hunted.

With a frown, Cullen motioned around them. "There should be more of them." 

That was, if the number of tents were any indication. They'd had a few groups of soldiers attack them while they were taking out those already present, but it still seemed like they were missing some.

Nathaniel spat on one of the corpses as he passed it. "I don’t know _where_ specifically, but I think I know _why_ they’re gone.” He paused for effect, as though making Cullen ask him for the information was something he enjoyed greatly. Once Cullen had, he pointed toward the other end of the camp. “There's a tent on the other side of camp with a tear in the back. Found some long, blonde hair off a tree branch, too, with what looked like rope bindings discarded nearby. I'd wager your precious lady Lowlander escaped her captors, and they're all out looking for her."

Cullen arched his brow as he considered it. Katrina _had_ proven to be somewhat of an escape artist. 

Still, he worried what would happen if the Orlesians caught her. Hadn't they wanted her dead? Why capture her now? 

"Where was this?" He asked, turning to Nathaniel. He noticed the disdainful glower that crossed the hunter's face, but ignored it.  

Nathaniel appraised him for a moment before starting through the camp. "This way."

The tent in question had some more rope and what looked like a gag left behind and, true to Nathaniel’s word, a hole in the back. Cullen frowned as he inspected it. The tear was clean, neat. How had Katrina gotten ahold of a knife? 

It didn’t seem like the Orlesians were _that_ inept.

If she was armed... he sighed. She hadn't been very good with a sword, but perhaps she knew more about how to use a shorter blade. He could hope. 

His gaze went down to the ground, sweeping across it slowly. There were a great many sets of footprints, and he wasn't sure he could make out and follow Katrina's.

"Your lady's tracks disappear about three yards from the tent. Were it not for the hairs on that branch," Nathaniel pointed it out, "I'd assume she got ahold of a horse. The branch is a bit low for a rider, though, and I don't see any hoof prints."

"So she literally just disappeared?" Cullen asked, looking back at the ground as though he'd see something that a damned Master of the Hunt had missed. 

"Dorian said she was blessed by the Gods. Perhaps they're helping her."

Cullen let out a half laugh and headed back to where he’d left Gunvor. "I guess that means we need to find her while they’re still protecting her." When Nathaniel didn't immediately follow him, Cullen looked back at him, brow lowered slightly in puzzlement.  "Or have you decided you don't need those journals translated anymore?"

Nathaniel started after him finally, glancing at him as he walked past. "If it was up to me, we’d burn the damned things and be done with it."

With a poorly concealed scowl, Cullen hurried to his horse.

It was odd that the Orlesians seemed to have gone hunting for Katrina on foot, leaving their steeds behind, but Cullen considered they’d probably thought she couldn’t get far and that it would be easier to catch her if they could sneak up on her or something.

Honestly, Lowlanders did things so backwards.

Though that was actually a pleasant break for the Avvar. Despite not knowing the details, considering that this many Lowlanders had come for the Wolves, Cullen could imagine they were in pretty poor condition at the moment. It was no wonder they were accepting the Lions’ help.

The Wolves—or at least Nathaniel—still didn’t think that Cullen and his warriors had come back because of a scout. It occurred to Cullen that they probably though the others had come back to cause a distraction while he stole Katrina.

Like he’d stoop to such pitiful tactics… 

The Avvar had found the larger camp a little after dawn and took advantage of as much light as possible, spending the rest of the day scouring the woods around it and ending all the Orlesian soldiers they came across. 

Nathaniel had said that there had to be about seventy or eighty soldiers in all who had attacked the hold, and they spent a good part of the evening making sure that none of the bastards made it home. 

As dusk drew its curtains over the mountains, Cullen and the others returned to the main camp, to see if any of the Lowlander fools had come back and if anyone had found Katrina yet. 

When they arrived, Mia and Dorian were waiting for them. Mia was sporting a new scar that was set deeply into her cheek, aligned with the remnants of a gash on her shoulder that made it look like she'd almost been cut down.

As Cullen and Nathaniel approached them, Dorian cast a quick heal, easing the constant ache in Cullen’s face and giving him a simple nod, looking a bit disappointed that the two didn’t have Katrina trotting after them, complaining about the cold. He said as much when they were within earshot, asking what good was a smitten thane if he couldn’t even find his lady?

Cullen ignored the jibe.

When Cullen reached Mia, she nodded to Nathaniel and left him to discuss what was going on with Dorian, leading her brother a ways to the side of the camp and finally turning when they were far enough that they would have some privacy.

Despite having brought him out, Mia seemed hesitant to say anything. She looked up at Cullen and then frowned, her gaze wandering back toward the others in the camp. Cullen followed her gaze, noting that for the first time Wolves and Lions didn’t seem to be making a distinction. Instead, they assisted on another with injuries and cleaning up the camp. Some even seemed to be joking with one another.

A common enemy seemed to help mend old wounds.

Cullen was the first to break the silence, pushing past whatever had grown between them this last few years or so, reaching out and hugging his sister. "I'm glad you're safe."

"I don't fall easily," Mia muttered. Then she nudged him away, looking more than a little exhausted, despite trying to conjure up a well-meaning smile. It didn’t last long. Her face fell, and she kicked at the ground, creating small divots in the snow and mud. "I…there’s a lot I want to say, and not nearly enough time. We aren't going to be able to mend any fences come spring."

Cullen felt unease curl in his gut, though he simply rested his hand on the hilt of the sword hanging from his hip and felt the reassuring feel of it beneath his fingers. "Why not?"

"Our hold is all but gone. It's time for us to move on." Mia looked lonely as she picked at her vest, still avoiding eye contact. "I knew what leaving the Lions would mean, but I always thought we'd be sort of close. A week's ride away." She tried to smile. "I guess I forgot that everything changes."

Cullen reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. "If you need help—" 

"You can volunteer the aid of the Lions, but you'll likely have a mutiny if you try to house us anywhere near your hold." She stepped a little closer. "I wish we had more time to talk about it, but I suppose it doesn't matter now." Even as Cullen tried to object, she shook her head. "Can you take the journals? Just until we can find a new place to call home? The damn things might be cursed, but I don't think the Lowlanders will go so far south as to reach your hold."

"I wouldn't have thought they'd come after yours," Cullen murmured.

Mia gave him a worried look. “I… we didn’t think they’d come in such force. That there were so many of them at all… they had to have been heading out here before the raid even started. The nearest Lowlander town is easily a four week ride—and our horses are sturdier than the ones in the Lowlands. They probably took longer to get here.”  

“You think they planned to take your clan out from the beginning?”

With a shake of her head, Mia took in a deep breath and held it. When she let it out, her breath shook a little, as though she was trying to stay strong. “I don’t know. I don’t understand any of this anymore…as though I understood it to begin with.” She let out a dry, humorless laugh. “It _does_ seem like they’d have attacked us even if we hadn’t been there at the raid. Whatever their intention is, the most important thing is to make sure that—when no one comes home to confirm their victory and they send more—there’s no one there for them to attack a second time. We aim to be gone as soon as we can finish the sky burials. Those not hunting our attackers are packing everything that wasn’t destroyed or tending to the dead.”

“Do you want the furs back?” Cullen asked without thinking.

Mia blinked, surprised. “You earned your keep. We’re not so destitute that we’d demand another hold’s belongings. And we’re hardly strong enough to take them back.”

“It might help you get further,” Cullen pointed out. “Depending on where you go, you could trade it, or just use it.”

“And when you go home with nothing to show for your efforts with us?” Mia asked.

That was a good point. Cullen twisted his mouth to one side as he considered it. “I’ll say I gave it to you to help you leave faster. People will be glad to see the Wolves go.”

Though Mia frowned, she hesitated. “About the journals, though.” She shifted her weight, crossing her arms so that she’d stop picking at her shirt. Authority filled her stance as she squelched her fidgeting, planting her feet firmly and squaring her shoulders back. “They’ll slow us down, but I’ll be damned if we just get rid of them. Blackwall and I…we don’t like how much the Lowlanders want to make sure they’re destroyed. We would like to make sure they get as little of what they want as possible.”

Cullen scratched at the stubble on his chin—it was getting longer again, a testament to the last time he’d bothered to shave—and thought on it a moment. “How many trunks of them were there?”

“Six.” Mia hesitated and then added, “They’ll probably take two horses to pull a piece. All that paper…it may not feel like much individually, but it’s like hauling whatever tree they were made from after you.”

“I don’t have enough people to haul that home,” Cullen replied, frowning. “We sent a few home to explain what was going on. Jim’s got a fast horse, though, so it should take him half the time to get back.”

“We could hide some,” Mia offered. “Then, whether we come back for them, or you do, we’d be the only ones to know where to find them.”

“We’ll take one trunk,” Cullen paused, and then added, “and one trunk of cloth and leathers to placate my clan. I’m not taking the other three. So reclaim it or leave without it. That will be your choice.”

"Good," Mia nodded, relieved, the skin around her eyes crinkling at his declaration. “I hope you’re not this benevolent with all the clans around you. You’ll lose everything.”

Cullen scoffed, but didn’t say anything, instead simply smiling back at her.

Shifting her weight a little, Mia nodded again. “Those journals though… The Lowlanders tried to burn them, but Dorian had the foresight to ward them, so we didn't lose many." She let out a bitter laugh. "It's about the only thing we didn't lose much of. They burned our stores of food, though I suppose they left us plenty of horse meat to make up for that,” as she spoke, her gaze slid toward the Lowlanders’ abandoned horses. Her shoulders slumped. “Our buildings are almost all gone..." She trailed off. "It's like the Caverns all over again. Only worse, because this time I’m old enough to know just how much is really gone."

"I'm so sorry," He whispered. They'd been children when the caverns had been lost, and their father had done his best to keep the worst of it from Mia and the others. They hadn't come to understand just what had been lost until much later. At the time they'd just known their mother had died protecting the clan. 

Cullen, though…he’d been there. He’d seen everything go wrong. Luckily, the Gods had dulled his memories, and they mostly only resurfaced in nightmares that were mostly forgotten upon waking up.

Mia shrugged a little, glancing past him and back to the Orlesian camp. "And that leads me around to Katrina." She waited until Cullen had shifted a little, inspecting her, dreading what he knew had to be coming. She was going to ask him to take the Lowlander, too. “Your Lowlander can't fight well, but she certainly tries, doesn't she?"

Cullen crossed his arms. "I told you she did. With training, she might be half decent someday.”

Though Mia let out a half laugh, she sighed. It seemed to take a great amount of self-control for her to say her next words. “I may have been wrong about her. Blackwall and I tried to locate her when everything fell to Chaos, and we saw her save one of our own, playing the distraction so that the girl could get away. If she was just playing you all against one another, I’d think she wouldn’t be quite so altruistic when she thought no one was watching.” Mia paused, scratching at her neck. “And she certainly wouldn’t have acted like that if she just cared about herself. Your Lowlander is an odd one.”

A sudden sense of shame filled Cullen. All this had happened, and he was still so pettily hung up on being able to steal a Lowlander who was entangled in the whole mess.

"We'll take her with the books," Cullen offered, squelching his disappointment behind a neutral expression. 

"You assume she's still alive." Mia shook her head. “I was leading her to safety after her attempted heroics, and we got blindsided. They took her down with a shield bash to the back of the head. I don’t think… they took her, but I don’t know if she was still alive.”

“She managed to escape this camp, Mia.” With a grin, Cullen motioned toward the tent Katrina had been held in. “They wouldn’t have scattered so to search for a corpse.”

“Maybe so,” Mia admitted, nodding slowly, “but she’s injured, and Lowlanders don’t do well in this cold, warm as it is.” She rolled her eyes a little, glancing down at the mud beneath their feet. It was still cold enough that it would refreeze over night, but that was it. There likely wouldn’t be any more snow for the year.

"Hakkon himself relinquished his hold on her already, so I don’t think he’ll reclaim her now," Cullen said, trying to sound more certain than he was. "And if the Gods are letting her be and watching over her, what chance do some Lowlanders have in bringing her down?"

Mia laughed at that, shaking her head as she started back to the camp. "You really are smitten."

Cullen didn't bother to argue as he followed her back.

He found Cassandra easily and gathered his warriors, explaining what had happened and what he’d promised Mia. Not one of them protested. Instead, Cassandra went to find Nathaniel so that they and a few others could go to where they’d left their trunks and make the trade. After all, it would have been burdensome to try to drag four full trunks of materials after them as they hunted their enemies.

As more of the Wolves showed up with news of other, smaller cells of the Orlesians having been taken care of, Cullen felt his stomach twist. There was still no word of Katrina.

It seemed to be a numbers game for Mia and hers. They were set on making sure that the exact numbers who attacked them were going to be slain, and they were doing a damned good job.

The Lowlanders seemed to have believed that if they split up, it would assure that no matter what, some of them would make it back to report to their superiors. From the orders they’d gathered, there were two intended campsites, though several smaller groups of soldiers had gotten lost during the retreat.

If they’d managed to regroup into the two larger groups, it would have been considerably harder for the Avvar to pick them off—and if Katrina hadn’t escaped, the main camp that had gathered successfully would have been a nightmare to take.

The Gods may not have been able to stop the attack, but Hakkon was making sure they got their revenge.

Even so, it was likely that some of the Orlesians would make it beyond their reach.

Cullen hadn’t been privy to the conversation, but he’d heard Dorian tell Nathaniel that he’d sent word to other Avvar holds to kill any Orlesian soldiers that made it to their territories on sight. He’d sent the messages via the Gods to other augurs.

The different clans might never come together under a single banner, but they all loathed when Lowlanders tried to extend their reach beyond where it belonged. The mountains were theirs, and sometimes the Orlesians needed a reminder of that, and there wasn’t a clan who wasn’t happy to make sure they remembered their place at the foot of the slopes.

Cullen was considering finally retiring for the night—he hadn’t slept in days, considering his ride back for Katrina and then riding straight through the night to go after her captors—when he felt someone watching him.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as though magic itself was thrumming across his skin, and he turned away from the tent that he’d claimed for the night—the Orlesians had unwittingly left the Wolves quite a bit of resources in the way of tents and horses and other little things like rations that would help them move their clan to a safer location. Even if the tents weren’t as durable as the Avvar made, they would do well during the warmer months. Once the Shadow Wolves had found a new home, they’d be able to break them down for clothing and other things, too.

It only took Cullen a few seconds to find who was watching him.

There, standing near a tree just outside of the camp, just beyond where the light from the few fires they’d set up could reach, was a young man. His clothes were patchwork at best, and shaggy blonde hair dipped down into his eyes, obscuring most of his face.

When he noticed he had Cullen’s attention, he waved him over with a lanky arm.

Cullen should have considered that this was odd, should have thought something off about the way the boy dressed. But instead, he walked across the space without even thinking twice about it. He stopped when he was in front of him, brow furrowed and arms crossed. “Yes?”

"She needs your help."

…-…

Katrina sat huddled under some rocks, trying not to notice how they didn't seem nearly as stable as she would have liked. Someone had told her to stay here, that she would be safe, but she couldn't for the life of her remember who. 

Trying to recall brought forth images of a pale blonde boy and amplified the pain in the back of her skull like she couldn't believe. 

She was certain she'd been in more pain than this before, but that hardly made her current injury hurt any less.

At least it wasn't a concussion this time. 

Someone had assured her of that. The same someone who had told her to stay hidden. the rocks would protect her from the wind and Orlesians alike, though they did little for the cold. As the sun went down, any semblance of warmth fled the encroaching shadows.  

Katrina rubbed her hands up and down her arms, cursing in rhythm with the motion—whoever had saved her had cut her hands free. They’d also left her a small, well-made dagger, telling her she wouldn't need it, but it was better to be safe.

She paused in her attempts to keep warm to feel the blade carefully where she’d laid it out across her lap. It was rather nondescript—much like its owner—without any telling signs of where it had been made or who had made it. Katrina vaguely recalled one of her old friends mentioning that one could always find the maker of a blade by searching for a signature piece or little flare of detail that would indicate who had made it. This blade had nothing like that.

She somehow doubted that she wouldn’t need the blade.

Though Katrina was used to not catching breaks, this was more than that. Those most despicable Orlesians were after her for _some_ thing, not that she could fathom what she'd actually done to warrant such a manhunt.

If they'd just been after the notes, why not just kill her? Why capture her when the reason she'd been brought out here was to die for what she’d done to the Comte?

Was this the Comte’s men? Even for him, it seemed excessive. Perhaps the thanes had been right about him having powerful allies. Perhaps it was something else altogether. She idly traced the symbol she’d seen on the breastplate of one of the men who had attacked the hold, trying to remember where she’d seen it before.

Because she had. Seen it.

Where she couldn’t say exactly—somewhere in Orlais, obviously. Beyond that, she drew a huge blank.

Perhaps if she’d tried to learn more about politics growing up… but how could she have known something like this would happen to her?

Maybe everyone telling her she was going to piss someone off enough to have people come after her someday should have been a hint.

Just a little one.

Which noble houses might have sided with the Comte, though? She tried to remember her lessons, the ones where Amelia had walked away able to recite hundreds of noble houses, while Katrina had forgotten to list her own family half of the time with the dozen or so she could remember at any given day.

Pondering such things never helped much, but she had little else that she could do, stranded in this miserable wood as she was. When she wasn’t cursing herself for never paying attention, or attempting to figure out who was actually after her, she’d been trying to assure herself that the trees actually did have individual characteristics and that she wasn’t captured in some garish dream. She kept expecting them to bend down and rake their branches through her hair, though she couldn’t remember where that notion had come from or why she was certain it had happened before.

To think, none of this would have happened if she’d just accepted that her sister was gone, like her father had told her to.

The mere thought—bitter and cold as she was—left a pit in her stomach.

How could she think that? How could she ever legitimize the idea of letting that horrid bastard get away with what he’d done?

So what if she was uncomfortable now? Like it’d never happened before. Sure, it was cold, but it could be worse. She _could_ be trapped in a sitting room listening to one of the Lords from Starkhaven talk about…anything.

She could remember one evening where one of her father’s friend had spent the entire dinner telling them about how his head chef had asked for a bit more coin—an advance, really—so that he could buy his love an engagement ring before she gave up and married some lout her parents wanted her to marry. The man had wanted a proper ring, one that would show his lady love just how much he thought of her, one that would impress her parents enough to give him a chance. The lord was quite proud that he had told the man no, stating that if the man had wanted to buy such an expensive ring, he should have had the foresight to save up or—and he’d said this with absolute delight—been born into a higher ranking family.

Katrina could understand not being able to help a loyal servant for certain reasons—perhaps money was tight—but to reject his request just because?

The way he had gone on and on and on about it had just been…

Katrina had done the Maker’s work the next day. She’d gone to the Chantry and mentioned the lord’s spending habits to one of the shrewder sisters, also adding that she hadn’t seen him at service lately, knowing damned well it would get back to the revered mothers. They were after that lord for his lack of tithes in no time, and soon he had a legitimate reason for not being able to give any of his staff advances.

The next time they’d had him over for dinner, he’d been ranting about the Chantry and how it was bleeding him dry. Katrina had politely suggested that, if it was such a problem, he should have been born with more money. Her father had excused her from the table.

She’d had no supper for a week, but it had been worth it.

Much like this would be.

Things might be bad now, but all she had to do was endure. Put up with a bit of cold, a bit of attempted murder, a bit of monotonous reading, and Amelia would be able to go home.

All of _this_ would be worth _that_.

A twig snapped not too far from her, and she hunched lower into the muddy snow, struggling to remember a few of the techniques one of her friends had taught her involving daggers forever ago.

More than that, though, she tried to stay calm. This—little noises too close for comfort—had happened a few times already. Each time she was sure the noises were closer and that she would be caught at any second, but each time they disappeared after a little while. 

That was why she hadn't stayed with that boy. He could slip past her hunters more easily without her. He'd promised to bring help.

She just needed to stay put, to trust that she would not be found. Everything would be alright. Everything would—

"I see her!"

Katrina hissed a string of curses as she looked up, trying to locate where the voice was coming from. 

"Maker damn the plan," a woman's voice replied, loudly. She was nearby. Too close for Katrina’s liking. "Just kill the bitch! They can figure out another way to take him down!"

Letting out a low breath, Katrina didn't move. Maybe they were just trying to lure her out. 

An arrow thudded into the rock next to her head, bouncing off the stone and cutting her arm.

Apparently the Maker wasn’t a fan of optimism.

Bastard.

Katrina bolted, trying to move away from where she thought she'd seen the arrow come from. She clutched the dagger she'd been given in one hand, the leather of her glove groaning from the pressure. Several voices erupted from the woods around her, shouts of surprise, anger, determination. 

She tried to weave through the branches and trees, sliding on ice and mud, cursing just about every single thing that came to mind. Damn the Orlesians, politics, the Comte, her father, Orlais in general, the cold, snow, whatever Avvar god was in charge of snow, Thane Cullen Ar Eydis O Lionhold Magicsbane and his gorgeous face and ridiculously long name.

Everything.

If even one of those things was damned decent, this wouldn't be happening now. 

Of all of those things, Cullen was the one she kept coming back to. Why couldn’t he have stayed with her? Why couldn’t he have kept his word? Why did she care so fucking much that he hadn’t? Even if she usually was the one disappointing others, she’d still had her share of hopes dashed before, so this shouldn’t have been nearly as painful as it was.

Katrina was even worse with directions than she'd realized as she jumped a bush only to stumble right into the line of sight of the damned archer. 

Both of them stared at one another in surprise for a moment before Katrina charged him as he fumbled to notch another arrow, slashing blindly. She heard him cry out, felt something wet splash over her arm and through her already damp shirt as the blade met resistance, but kept going. She didn't care about killing her hunters. So long as they were injured enough that they couldn't follow her, that was what mattered. 

She kept running.

If she could just get out of reach...

Quite abruptly, the trees tapered off, making the world ahead clearer. The last thing she needed was to run out into the middle of a clearing. Nothing screamed ‘hit me’ like being the only thing to aim at.

She slowed enough that she’d be able to see out into the area and try to get a sense of what direction she was heading in from the sky. After all, she knew constellations. Sort of. And maybe she could see something that would indicate it led to a road or a hold or somewhere she could go to and hide in until the Orlesians were all eaten by those ever absent damned bears she’d been so afraid of.

Where were they when she _needed_ them to eat people?

Lazy, hibernating assholes.

With her gaze upward and outward, she barely managed to toss herself backwards when the toe of her boot pressed into air instead of grass or snow.

Gripping a nearby tree trunk, she let her gaze drop down.

And down, and down, and down.

This was no clearing. It was a cliff.

Fucking mountains.

She'd barely made it a few yards back into the woods—at an angle of course, as she wasn’t stupid enough to run straight back the way she’d come—when the Orlesians caught up. The archer was missing—good—but three others had managed to keep up with her. How many of these bastards were there anyway?

She stood there, unsure what to do. They had swords, all of them, and she wouldn't have Mia and Thane Blackwall—or Cullen—to save her. 

She gripped her dagger a bit tighter, though as the first two charged her, they knocked it from her hand easily, and she teetered back a few paces, a long cut running down her right arm. 

Katrina took in a shaky breath, stumbling back a few more paces as they advanced. 

They’d fanned out enough that no matter which way she ran, she’d be caught by a blade. They were tired, but she doubted they were tired enough to miss at this range. She had no weapon, no way to fight back.

This was it.

There would be no aiding the Avvar and getting back on track to save her sister. There would be no triumphant return, no dragging the Comte de Forseau down into the gutters to make sure he never got back up. There would be no seeing Cullen again, no chance that he hadn’t abandoned her after all, no grudging forgiveness to be had.

This was the end. This time there was no way out. She was going to die.

Katrina narrowed her eyes at her captors.

If she had to die, she was going to take as many of the bastards out with her as she could. 

And she knew how.

Turning on her heels, she made a run for the cliff.


	12. Falling Fast

Keeping up with the blonde young man was surprisingly difficult, though Cullen found that the boy hung back every so often, just enough to stay in sight. He’d followed the stranger into the woods without a thought. Now, the occasional regret that he hadn’t taken the time to get Gunvor kept resurging in his head. It would have taken half this time if not less to get to wherever they were going if they’d been on horseback.

At this point, though, Cullen wasn’t sure if it would be faster to backtrack and then head back out, so he kept silent and focused on keeping up. The woods were quiet, for the most part, but he didn’t want to risk giving any remaining Orlesians a heads up that they were passing by—or draw the attention of a freshly woken bear or gurgut.

The boy seemed to know exactly where they were going, until they reached a small outcropping of rocks at the base of a short cliff-like protrusion on the mountain side—dozens of such pocked the forests, most no more than a dozen or so feet high.

There were signs that someone had been hiding there, deep marks in the mud where boots had sunk down and even a smaller sized handprint. The strange boy paced back and forth, fingers clutching his hair as he said, “No, no, no. Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t…” Then, rather abruptly, his expression blanked, and his voice took on a calm tone as he spoke, slowly speeding up his words as he went on, “Stay still, stay here. Help will come. No. Not help. Arrows loosed, angry eyes, can’t wait. A corpse can’t avenge a wrong. Run!”

He straightened up a little, turning slowly before starting off into the woods, glancing back at Cullen only once to add, “Hurry.”

They picked up their speed until they were running, vaulting over shrubbery and sliding through frozen puddles, using trees to help them when they lost their footing. Cullen thought he saw a body lying lifeless as they practically flew through the forest, but he didn’t dare stop to check. The boy knew where they were going.

He had to keep up.

Stopping rather abruptly, the boy didn’t seem fazed when Cullen nearly ran headlong into him. It was as though some invisible force helped him stop just shy of the collision. Even as he wondered how that was possible, hints that a cliff was near—the way the wind blew stronger and the forest seemed to open up ahead—caught his attention.

Cullen cautiously stepped toward the ledge to look down, afraid of what he might see lying broken and twisted below. Even a short drop could cause a broken bone if someone wasn’t careful. However, they’d reached one of the larger cliffs that occasionally rose up on the mountains, Korth having sheered away the earth for reasons only Gods could understand.

As he narrowed his eyes, trying to see in the darkness—to figure out why they had come this way—Cullen heard shouts, and his head snapped up.

The boy was gone.

Instead, he had a clear view as he watched figures moving through the woods, not far from where he was. As he caught a clear glimpse, he sucked in a sharp breath.

Katrina was at the head of the chase, running straight toward the cliff a few yards off to his right.

He tried to shout to her, to warn her. One of her pursuers noticed him, slowing her pace and redirecting her attention, drawn blade gleaming in the dim light.

If Katrina heard him, however, she made no indication of it. Instead, she kept her course. Cullen started toward them, horror curling in his gut as he ran parallel to the edge, far enough that he wouldn’t slide off with a careless misstep. He prayed to whatever Gods might be listening or nearby that he’d reach her before her captors and before she reached the cliff.

It felt like the world was moving in slow motion. Katrina’s focus was unwavering, her gaze straight ahead, like she knew exactly what was waiting for her. The soldiers were catching up. The last one was hanging back to see what Cullen would do.

He wasn’t going to make it to her in time.

Just as he tried to force himself into a full sprint, Katrina broke even with the edge of the trees. In the last second, she grabbed ahold of a trunk and swung herself out of the way. Her closest pursuer tried to turn in time, but his boots skidded on the ice. Before he even knew the cliff was there, he was falling from it.

The second one realized what was happening, and tried to grip one of the nearest tree branches. It snapped off in his hand, however, and he went sliding over the edge with a panicked scream just as Cullen reached the area.

Katrina was a few feet away. When she’d grabbed the tree, one of her arms hadn’t supported her weight, and she’d lost her grip, thudding into the frozen ground and sliding toward the ledge. She’d managed to cling to an exposed root, though half of her already dangled over the edge of the cliff.

As she tried to pull herself up, the root gave out on her, snapping and sending her body dropping. Cullen lunged forward and gripped her arm, tossing his weight back and bracing himself so that they didn’t follow her pursuers over the ledge.

At first, Katrina let out a scream, twisting her arm around to grip Cullen’s and then jerking as though to try to bring him down with her.

He managed to wedge one of his feet securely against a small protrusion jutting up from the top of the cliff-face and then cursed. “Katrina! Enough! It’s me!”

Even as he spoke, she looked up at him, barely able to see through her hair which was once again a wild, tangled mess. She stopped struggling, eyes wide and mystified, as if she thought Cullen had simply materialized from nothing. Then, her brow pinched together, and he thought he could make out a glimmer of tears on her eyelashes. “Cullen…”

Hearing her say his name sent a chill down his spine. By the Mountain father, but she did have some type of spell on him, didn’t she?

Now was hardly the time to be considering that, though. Instead, he tightened his grip on her arm as best he could. “I’ve got you…” As he reached out his other hand and took her other arm, she managed to get a footing on the edge of the cliff and push herself up a little.

He used her momentum to drag her to him without scraping her stomach across the ledge. When she was safely up, he stood, keeping a firm grip on her as he led her further into the woods. He thought to look for the last of her attackers briefly, finding a slumped figure a few yards away, unmoving.

Despite feeling that he should know what—or who—had dealt with that woman, he couldn’t think of a name, nor could he find it in him to be bothered with why he was drawing a blank.

When they were a safe enough distance from the cliff, he eased his grip on Katrina’s arm, pulling her in front of him so that he could face her fully. “What were you thinking?”

Katrina shivered as she stood in front of him, glaring toward the cliff. “I figured I’d take out as many of them as I could.”

“By killing yourself?” He couldn’t help but give her a slight shake.

Jerking free from his grip, she glared up at him, that fire he’d longed to see once again directed at him. Without thinking, he drew up straighter as she shoved him with her good hand. “You don’t get to lecture me! This only happened because of you, anyway!”

Cullen stared down at her, indignation of his own welling up. Setting his jaw, he pointed at her, leaning forward slightly. “I just saved you.”

At that, she started talking, and fast, using her good arm to made grandiose hand motions that were no doubt intended to help exaggerate her points. She was talking too fast for him to follow.

Cullen reached out and lightly pressed her jaw up, clicking her mouth shut. Even as she looked ready to take a swing at him, he gave her a tired frown. “If you’re going to yell at me, do it slow enough that I can understand you.”

She rolled her eyes, hand clasping his wrist and tugging his arm down. Fixing him with her gaze, that inner fire still simmering like embers in her eyes, she enunciated each word explicitly for his benefit. “If you had kept your word, this would not have happened.”

“And just when did I break my word?” Cullen snapped back, a bit harsher than he’d meant. He pointed toward the cliff. “It wasn’t when I kept you from falling to your death!”

“You left!”

A hiccupped cry followed the declaration, and Katrina snapped her mouth shut before she could say anything else, tears beading on her lashes.

Any fight that might have been ready to spark to life in Cullen died out instantly as Katrina turned her glare away, crossing her arms—though she did so gingerly, the injured arm clearly still a problem.

Cullen cursed himself as he realized that she was still bleeding, and he hadn’t anything to bind it with. If he tore off one of her sleeves, she’d have to deal with the cold…

Gaze sweeping back toward the fallen Orlesian, Cullen darted over to the woman and relieved her of her cloak. Just before he turned back, Katrina called after him, destitute. She hadn’t moved from where she was, but terror that she was once again being abandoned had left her rigid, immobile. Cullen returned to her quickly and draped the cloak around her before tearing off part of the bottom. When he’d torn a strip free that hadn’t been sullied from the mud and snow, he lightly drew her arm to him and began to bandage it.

He was no healer, but it would serve well enough until they made it back to camp. All the while, Katrina didn’t say a word.

“I was coming back for you, you know,” he said quietly as he worked. “I just couldn’t risk keeping my soldiers in the Wolves’ hold any longer.”

She watched him as his fingers brushed over the bandage, around and around her arm. “You could have said something.”

“Like what?” He asked, peering up at her and then arching his brow when she finally met his gaze. She looked like she might cry. “If I’d come to see you before I left…well, Thane Blackwall might not have skewered me, but it wouldn’t have been pretty.” Finished wrapping her arm, he motioned with his head back the way he’d come. “Do you think you can walk? If not, I can carry you.”

“I can walk,” Katrina mumbled, abruptly finding great interest in the scraggly underbrush.

With a nod, Cullen began to lead her back toward the camp, keeping an arm out toward her until the first time she stumbled. At that point, he decided it better to walk on her other side, with the arm that he could grip to help without hurting her.

They’d gone a ways, with Cullen beginning to wonder how he knew the path back—it was like someone was leading him, though he couldn’t say who—when Katrina finally began to talk.

“You know, it shouldn’t even matter whether you were coming back or not.”

Cullen frowned as he hopped down a small frozen incline and then reached back to take one of her hands in his and brace his other against the small of her back, helping her ease over the ice that seemed so foreign to her. She slid a little, leaning into him at the bottom before they began to walk again. He hesitated as he let go of her, watching her.

She’d attempted a few times to try to fix her hair—an endeavor that only left her more frustrated than before each time—but it was still a bit wild. Without thinking, he reached out to pat down a few stray locks, only to jerk his hand back when she winced.

That’s right. Mia had mentioned she’d been hit in the back of the head.

Katrina started talking again before he could ask about it. “I mean, it’s not like I even know you.” Her brow pinched together as she glared at the frozen shrubs and underbrush that caught at her boots. “We’ve talked, what? Thrice? It shouldn’t matter if you never came back.”

The words stung. Cullen let his gaze drop from her to the ground as well as he kept an eye out for any freshly refrozen puddles that might catch or trip them.

What was that saying? Never let a Lowlander speak, for words were their greatest weapon?

“It shouldn’t matter at all, but it did.” Katrina muttered, pausing to curse profusely as the wind caught her cloak and tangled it in some brambles they were passing. Even as she got into a tug of war with the brittle branches, Cullen stepped around her and pulled it lose. She simply glared at the fabric as he let it go and it swished back around her. “I didn’t want to never see you again.”

To say Cullen was baffled would be an understatement. He resumed his pace beside her, watching her with a more critical eye. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was making a point to not look at him.

“Does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”

“I wasn’t mad at you,” Katrina scowled at his question. “I was mad at everything. I still am.”

“Ah,” Cullen replied, letting the silence fall over them again for a few steps. “Because back near the cliff, it sounded like you were mad at me.”

“I’m about to be mad at you.” Katrina reached out and shoved his arm lightly, her fingers lingering against him for just a second before she pulled her hand away. “You have to admit, though. If you hadn’t abandoned me, I wouldn’t have had to use a cliff to escape Orlesians.”

“You realize an entire army came for you, yes?” Cullen asked, leaning forward a little as he peered down at her.

Rather than admit defeat or a flaw in her logic, Katrina frowned. “Do you know if Thane Blackwall and his lady are alright? They tried to protect me, but…” She reached up, gingerly feeling her head. “I can’t remember what happened.”

“Mia and her husband are fine,” Cullen replied gently, pausing briefly to consider that no one had actually told him that Thane Blackwall was alright. He dismissed the notion, figuring that Mia or someone else would have mentioned it. Likely, he was still at his hold, overseeing its security while they prepared to leave.

“When I was little, the royal family in Starkhaven was overthrown,” Katrina said softly. “My family was exiled to Ostwick for a while because we were loyal to the crown, but then Prince Vael reclaimed the throne and my family helped. I don’t remember much of it, but I remember hearing that the fighting had been brutal.” She stared blankly ahead, feet plodding along softly. “Still, I’d never really thought people could do this much damage to one another.” She shook her head. “With the matters in Starkhaven, it was all about power. There was a reason—sick and twisted as it was—for all the damage done. But here… They were burning the hold just to burn it.”

“I’ve never heard of Lowlanders simply razing a hold for no reason before, either,” Cullen offered. He’d heard of some bad fighting where nobles sent warriors and soldiers into the mountains because the Avvar came too far down the slope or because the nobles decided to claim more than they deserved, but direct attacks on holds were...

How had they even known where to march to?

“I don’t care much for that bristly old bastard, but I’m glad he’s alright.”

It took Cullen a second—abruptly drawn from his thoughts as he was—to realize she was talking about his fellow thane. With a half grin, he couldn’t squelch the small laugh that escaped his throat. “He’ll be thrilled to hear, I’m sure.”

Katrina made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat that reminded him of Cassandra, and he couldn’t hide his smile as she glared up at him. “Don’t you dare tell him that.” He held up a few branches for her to pass under, and she glanced up at him, a light in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place. Hope? “So then. You said you were coming back for me.”

“I said I’d protect you, and I can’t do that if I’m miles away,” he said, shrugging a little before he added. “I have to say, if I’d known you would make it so hard, I might not have been so quick to promise that.”

For an instant, he thought Katrina might not catch that he’d meant it as a joke, but she smirked as they kept trudging along. “I’m good at making simple things complicated.”

“It must be a Lowlander gift.”

“I’ll have you know that my life was never this complicated before I got caught up with Orlesians.”

The way she said that last word was as though it was the filthiest thing she could say.

Lightly catching her hand as he helped her over another long patch of ice, he nodded toward her. “I don’t know. The way some of the Orlesians have been cursing you, I don’t think their lives were as complicated before they met _you_.”

“Just what are you accusing me of, messere?” Katrina gave him a pointed look, though there was a twist of a smile on her lips.

“Just an…what’s the word, observation?” Cullen said, letting go of her hand and holding his up in surrender when she took a light, wide swing at him. He reached out and caught her hand as she lowered it, his fingers easily encircling her wrist. “You’re going to come back with me to my hold. Hopefully it will be far enough south that you won’t have to worry about more Lowlanders coming for you.”

Katrina fell silent at that. When he loosened his grip on her, though, she let it slide just far enough that she could catch his hand with hers. “That won’t put your people in danger?”

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, lightly bumping his arm against hers. “We’ll be fine.”

…-…

Katrina woke up to a chill in the air, though it didn’t bother her quite as much as she was used to. Her clothes were warm—leathers, lined with fur, unlike her clothes or the ones she’d been gifted by the Avvar—and, despite being a bit loose on her, they kept the cold at bay better than any of her ‘Lowlander’ gear ever could.

Maybe that was the secret to the Avvar’s ability to live in these Maker-forsaken mountains.

Though, that didn’t explain how they could walk around shirtless as they did.

Her head didn’t hurt anymore—nothing did.

As she glanced around, she tried to remember what had happened. Cullen had saved her from impending doom—he really did seem to be somewhat of a woodland hero—and then… The walk back had been long, and after walking what could have been an eternity, Cullen had insisted on carrying her. She remembered protesting that she was fine to walk on her own before finally sighing when he knelt down in front of her and told her to climb onto his back. She could barely remember looping her arms around his neck and his arms catching her legs before...

She must have passed out almost instantly.

Cullen was something else. It was like the Maker himself had sent him… or perhaps someone else.

More and more, Katrina felt like the Maker really wasn’t out there. If he was, he was too engrossed with whatever he’d decided to do since his abandonment of Thedas to help a lonely, little, lost, disowned noble.

That meant she wasn’t noble anymore, didn’t it?

Katrina sat up, tugging one of the furs around her to keep the cold at bay and looked around the tent. She’d fallen asleep knowing that she was safe with Cullen.

So why was she waking up in an Orlesian tent?

Even as she cautiously glanced around, half expecting some guard to be there ready to bash her face in with a gauntlet, a young man patted her shoulder, and she jumped. As she let out a surprised curse, he slouched his shoulders slightly, his blue eyes looking most guilty.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You…” Katrina paused, vague memories bubbling up slowly. “You’ve been helping me.”

He perked up a little, a smile daring to twitch across his lips at her words. “You remember.”

“Not well,” she admitted, reaching up and scratching her head. “It’s…fuzzy.”

“I’m working on it, and people can remember me for longer,” the boy offered, before shaking his head. “That’s not important though. You’ll forget me after a little while, but don’t worry. I’m going to keep helping you. Just like Justice. He can’t do much outside of your dreams, though. You’re not a mage, after all.”

Katrina tilted her head a little in response to the young man’s sage nod. “Yeah, I suppose I’m not.”

“Here, I think you’ll need these,” he said, pressing two daggers into her hands. She paused, recognizing one as the one he’d given her before. The other was identical, save that it had a few less scuffs on it. “They want to make you go away, but they can’t let you disappear. More _will_ come to find you.”

She blinked, looking back up at him. Her fingers curled around the hilts. “What do you mean?”

“One needs another to fall, but can’t be the one to push. They need them to fall by themselves. Or to make it look like they do. An act of aggression. A people framed for a murder they didn’t commit. People will point fingers at the one she wants, and he won’t be a problem anymore.”

Katrina stared at the boy as he spoke, suddenly feeling like she was half-awake or drunk or…something. She certainly wasn’t following what he’d said. “Come again?”

The boy seemed frustrated. “Broken words, meaningless things. Never listening when I should, miss too much. Wouldn’t be so lost now if I’d just pay attention—no! No, no!” He held his hands out, almost frantic like. “It’s not you, it’s me. I…don’t talk to a lot of people. And they forget me anyway, so it’s okay when I don’t make sense.” He paused, drawing his hands back to himself and wringing them slowly. “But you’ll remember this. Justice will help it stay fresh.”

“Remember what?”

The young man’s lips moved silently, his eyes rolled up as though he were looking to the sky for guidance. Finally, he looked back at her, a smile in place. “It’s a Game. A noble is trying to frame another by making it look like _they’re_ framing the Avvar. For your death.”

Katrina stared at him for a long, long moment before finally pointing at him. “So you’re saying two nobles want to ruin each other, and one’s trying to frame the other by hurting me and the Avvar?”

“Yes.” He sounded most relieved that she’d followed him.

“The Comte de Forseau?”

“I…don’t…know,” he replied, fidgeting a little, frown sweeping his lips down. “Twisted thoughts contorted in twisting minds, always seeking an advantage. Eyes sharp, tongues sharper. Never a kind word without motive, never a smile without a guard. Nothing is right, nothing is good. Twisted, tainted, wrong…” he trailed off again, looking back up at her, mournful. “Too many have different thoughts. I can’t tell who’s right and who just wants to be right.”

“Why help me?” Katrina asked, leaning toward him, searching his expression. A part of her whispered to be scared, but she couldn’t be. He was too…kind. “What do you get out of keeping me alive?”

“I like to help,” he offered with a simple shrug. “And Justice can’t keep an eye on you when you’re not dreaming. Can’t keep you safe from blades and burning, arrows and falling. We want thing set right. That means we need someone who can unravel this. Someone with a fire in them that never goes out.”

Katrina blinked. Slowly, she could remember talking to a knight in—literally—shining armor. She remembered her vow to save her sister, her comment on being able to change things, magic or no.

Her shoulders slumped a little. “You must be disappointed. I said I could change things, and I haven’t done much of anything yet, other than bitch about having to do anything.”

“You’ve done more than you know,” the boy gave her a simple smile. “We haven’t been disappointed.” 

Katrina felt a little embarrassed as she reached up to scratch her eyebrow. “If you say so, I guess…” She perked up a little, “Oh, what do I call you—”

The tent flap drew back, and Cullen smiled as he dipped down to enter. “You’re awake, good. I thought you might sleep longer. Augur Corpseflame healed you. He wanted to say goodbye, but he was needed elsewhere. He wanted me to tell you something about sleeping too much, but I, uh, I don’t know all the words in common.”

Katrina nodded to him, an odd fluttering feeling in her chest as she saw the way his lips curved into a smile, the way the light shimmered against his golden hair and accented his shoulders. As she tried to shake it off, she glanced back to her side to see an empty tent. Even as she wondered why she’d thought someone would be there, Cullen’s hand lightly rested on one of hers. “Katrina?” When she looked back at him, he’d settled down just at the edge of the furs they’d given her to keep warm. “If you’re feeling well enough, we need to head out. It’s a long way to my hold.”


	13. Heading South

Katrina was beginning to wonder about whether or not she should have just let the Orlesians kill her, though that was likely just because of how much her thighs hurt. Well, everything was sore, really. Avvar rode long and hard.

And for someone used to casual canters for maybe an hour or two at most—even when she’d been fleeing from Orlais, she’d still taken frequent breaks, ducking off roads and the like to rest, or simply moving at a slower pace so as to blend in with other travelers—she had not been prepared for that. She’d nearly fallen off her horse after about three hours.

Cullen had kept her on his after her near reunion with the ground, making a playful tease about how she always seemed to fall off things. Katrina had not been particularly amused, even if it was true enough.

When they’d stopped for the night, her thighs had been blistered and chaffed, and she was pretty certain that this was some sort of torture or punishment for all the poor choices she’d made in her life. While she couldn’t argue that she didn’t deserve _some_ retribution for previous actions, it didn’t mean she had to take it without a few quiet curses to the Maker.

Their party was not particularly glad to have her around, either.

Truly, the whole escapade did have a homey fill to it. Everywhere she looked there was rampant disappointment and the type of bitter resentment she’d always figured was reserved for siblings.

“Could you help make the fire?” Could the Divine hear her scream from this far away?

“Do you know how to skin an animal?” Did these fingers look like she skinned anything other than knuckles?

“Will you help with the tents?” Oh, look. It’s falling over again.

“Can you _tend_ the fire?” Look at those embers dance in the wind. Right toward the tent that’s falling over. Again.

“Can you stand here and not move?” If her mother could get her to do simple tricks like that, she wouldn’t be in the woods now, would she?

She’d managed to keep most of her quips to herself, mostly because she had a feeling that it was hard enough for Cullen to validate why she was even with them as it was. Cullen had made promises, but his people were divided when it came to hauling Katrina back with them—and the divide was becoming more a him versus them matter with each of Katrina’s shortcomings. Even his second in command, Cassandra, who had seemed to be on their side in the beginning seemed more and more disenfranchised with Katrina the longer they were in close proximity.

She had, eventually, slipped over to the horses and helped to brush and feed them. While walking to them had been painful, once she was there, set in the rhythm of tending to the sturdy beasts, she’d been able to forget how much she ached, at least for short bursts. Then she’d have to move a little and would be back to silently cursing the Maker and her existence and, well, everything.

As was usual of late.

Aside from Cassandra and Cullen, the only other Avvar who seemed to really pay her any attention—being blatantly ignored was another warm reminder of home—was the Wolf who was accompanying them back to the Red Lion Hold. She was a mage, Morrigan. Apparently she was talented enough that she could have been Augur, but the Gods had chosen Dorian over her. At least, Katrina thought that was what Morrigan had meant when she’d explained things. The woman had been a bit glib, and had switched to the Avvar tongue to speak with Cullen and his people, leaving Katrina as the odd ball out.  

It would be fun if she managed to learn their language faster than they anticipated and then spy on them. After all, it did appear she would be there for a while.

First, however, she’d have to find someone to actually teach her. If anyone, it would probably be Cullen. The rest of the Avvar seemed content to stumble through their conversations with Katrina using the common tongue—or what little they knew of it.

In an attempt to talk with Cassandra, Katrina had asked what the Avvar words for good morning were, and Cassandra had given her the strangest look before finding a reason to be elsewhere. One she chose not to share with Katrina. That was when she’d decided that, despite Cullen’s earlier comment that Cassandra would be a friend, she must have done something—likely existing—to displease the Avvar woman.

Maybe the Avvar held their language sacred or…some such nonsense. Maybe she’d asked about it wrong? Was there a proper way to ask about another’s culture and language? She’d never had this problem before. Wasn’t showing a general interest in another’s beliefs and ways considered a good thing?

When she’d ended up on Cullen’s horse, she’d thought she might have more time to talk about such things. Alas, they’d ridden too hard to really allow for conversation. At the end of the day, Katrina had passed out pretty much as soon as she was done tending to the horses—she’d been too overcome with fatigue to even read any, instead falling asleep with a book resting across her chest. It was a good thing Dorian hadn’t come with them, or he’d likely have thwacked her on the head—or with another book—for bending the pages so.

That had been her life for the last three days—tending horses, riding hard, and dreaming of murder, mayhem, and a shining knight who tried to keep the worst of it at bay.

Katrina had quietly asked Morrigan if she knew any healing spells after the second day when the pain in her legs had gotten even worse, and she’d been _so_ thrilled to learn that Morrigan was not a healer of any kind. She _had_ supplied Katrina with a salve to put on her blisters, though.

The night before, right after they’d stopped, she’d asked Cullen just how far away his hold was. He must have seen the internal screaming reflected in her eyes when he’d said they had over a week to go if they kept up their current pace, because she caught him watching her a few times that night as they set up camp.

Each time he noticed she’d caught him, he’d look away quickly, finding something to do or someone to talk to.

It had to be that he’d figured out she was in pain, hadn’t it? It wasn’t like she could pretend she wasn’t stiff and sore and achy for long periods of time. Really, she _was_ quite the weakling. A stellar example of the people of the Lowlands.

Maybe that was why the Avvar didn’t want to talk to her…

However… there was something reassuring about the thought that perhaps Cullen was watching her for other reasons. She’d been told before that she wasn’t the worst thing to look at, though… Avvar might have different beauty standards.

And he hadn’t really made any move or indication that he was interested… had he?

After all, he had said that he’d been coming back for her, but that could have just been because he’d given her his word.

And she had yelled at him.

And as nice as he was, it wasn’t like he was stealing her away to whisper sweet nothings into her ears as the fires burned low—not that she would have been able to stay awake long enough to hear them, anyway.

And they’d only known each other for…well, technically weeks, but she’d been unconscious for most of that. Perhaps he was just following some code of honor, looking after her as he was.

Why did it even matter?

She had to admit, he was rather easy on the eyes himself. Perhaps that was part of it. His leathers were tight enough that she could see vague outlines of his muscles beneath them, and as they’d ridden, it had been hard not to think about the way she’d had to hug herself to his firm body, her cheek pressing against his warm skin—especially considering it was _so_ many hours with nothing else to do other than think.

The slight circles under his eyes and that scar just added to his aura of…she wasn’t sure what it was. Strength, protection, primal force?

She’d die before she’d tell him that, though.

With a sigh, Katrina opened her eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling of the tent. Her dreams the night before had not been pleasant ones. They’d revolved around murder and her world falling apart, mostly, and she wished dearly to get them out of her head.

Wishing for something to occupy her time with—aside from thoughts of the handsome thane who had taken her under his wing for whatever reason—she listened for the sounds of the Avvar waking up or moving around. No doubt someone would be in soon to make sure she was awake and ready to go.

Ready and back on a Maker-forsaken horse.

She’d have to apply some more of that salve before she left her tent.

Quite abruptly, she realized that something was off.

Why _hadn’t_ anyone woken her up yet? She could hear birds chirping. Their party was generally up before those little screechers.

Aside from the wildlife, though, it was quiet. A bit too much so.

She could hear a faint crackle of a campfire, and that was it.

Sitting up, she glanced around, hugging her fur blankets to her. She was alone.

Morrigan had been sharing a tent with her, not that they’d said much to one another yet, what with Katrina passing out so quickly and not being much of a morning person. Morrigan also seemed like more of a loner type, and Katrina didn’t know what to say. Should she offer sympathies for what had happened to the Shadow Wolves’ hold? Should she not mention it?

Cautiously, she untangled herself from the furs, pulling on the outer layers of clothing that she’d shirked so that she’d be able to sleep decently, and slipped outside. The air still had a chill to it, though snow and ice were slowly sloshing off the tree branches around them.

Cullen sat beside the fire in silence with Morrigan, cooking what looked like it had been a rabbit once upon a time. When he saw Katrina, he motioned for her to come over and sit beside him. Even as she headed to him, she realized why it was so quiet.

All the others were gone.

Aside from the three of them, there was his chestnut stallion and another steed, mulling about a little ways from the tent, their reins not even tied to a tree. Most of the supplies were gone, too, though she supposed there was enough for them. She assumed, anyway.

As she sat down beside them, curling her legs under her and hugging herself a little to keep warm, Cullen motioned toward the poor skinless and skewered creature. “You can go back to sleep if you’d like. Until it’s ready.”

She nodded a little awkwardly. “I’m okay.”

Silence ensued, interrupted only by the soft crackle of flames and occasional hiss as juices from the cooking meat dripped into the fire.

“So,” she said, noting that none of the books had been left behind for her to get started on. “Just us?”

He nodded, pausing to think of what to say. Morrigan chose to step in, not wanting to wait for him to find his words. “You do not ride well. Thane Magicsbane sent them home to make sure all is well. We’ll go slower.”

“I see,” Katrina murmured. She leaned her chin into her hands as that silence began to descend again. “Thank you.”

He nodded, glancing from her to Morrigan and then back at their meal.

“So how long until we get to your hold?” She picked at the fur around the top of one of her boots, shifting her head to rest in just one hand.

“Depends on how fast we go,” he replied, shrugging a little. “They will be there in a week and some. I think we will be there in three, at most.”

“Three weeks.”

As she glanced up, she tried to see where the sun was through the bare branches overhead. Some of them were already starting to bud with new leaves.

“Twill pass by quickly, no doubt,” Morrigan offered. Even as she spoke, she patted a satchel resting beside her. “And perhaps we’ll have time to read.”

So they hadn’t sent _everything_ ahead. Katrina felt better, despite not particularly wanting to read. She would still be useful. It was important to do her part. After all, she had promises to keep, and she needed to get them done before the Orlesians came after them again.

Came after her.

Cullen lightly hit her arm with the back of his hand and held out part of the unidentifiable rodent, skewered onto a stick.

Once they finished, Morrigan gave her more salve for her legs, and she slipped into the tent to apply it quickly before moving to help them pack the camp. She was about as useful as she’d been the previous days, though Cullen didn’t seem to mind her ‘help’. They rolled the furs together, took down the tents, doused the fire, and then packed their things onto his steed. Gunvor, he’d introduced it as.

Morrigan handled her own belongings, keeping mostly out of their way, though she did stop a few times to suggest ways that Katrina could do things more effectively. Both Avvar had seemed impressed by the fact that Katrina was actually capable of learning, when things were explained to her.

 _Small miracles_ , she supposed, trying not to feel a little slighted by their earnest surprise.

Cullen and Morrigan swung up easily into their saddles, and Katrina tried not to look as depressed as she felt when she imagined riding for another day—another three weeks. To her surprise, Cullen pulled her up in front of him side saddle, curling his arm around her waist and resting his hand on his saddle beside her hip. She leaned into him a little awkwardly, peering forward as he started the steed into a slow trot. When she looked up at him, he was watching the way ahead, though his gaze darted down to her quickly. He paid more attention to her than she’d realized.

When she glanced over at Morrigan, the woman had a mixed expression on her face as she let her gaze wander around their surroundings. She couldn’t tell if Morrigan was bored by the layout of the land or saying goodbye.

Perhaps it was both, somehow.

Katrina felt so out of place sitting there in front of Cullen, without a thing to do. Letting her gaze wander, taking in the frozen forest where every tree looked ridiculously similar, she finally sighed, looking back at him.

“If…we’re going slow enough to talk,” she glanced ahead again, “what’s the Avvar word for horse?”

…-…

Cullen cracked his shoulders as he finished with his tent for the night and checked to make sure that Morrigan had been able to set up her and Katrina’s without incident. Of course she had, and was already starting on a small fire for their camp.

“Come on, then,” Katrina’s voice was soft from behind him, and he turned his head to see her standing next to Gunvor, patting his leg and motioning for him to lift his hoof so that she could clean it. It was the one thing she had seemed proficient in since their travels began—aside from getting into trouble—though before they’d been in a large enough group that Cullen had always tended to Gunvor before she’d reached the beast.

Speaking of, his horse seemed quite content to ignore her. She waited a moment before trying again. She gently ran her hand down the horse’s leg, stopping near the hoof and again trying to persuade the creature to lift it for her.

Cullen made sure most of their supplies would be ready for the morning and then headed over. She noticed him as he stopped beside Gunvor’s head, running his hand over the beast’s nose and up to its mane and down again. When he spoke, it was in Avvar, “Up.”

Gunvor lifted his hoof. When Katrina had picked it, she turned toward him, tilting her head. “What was that?”

“Ah, up.” He repeated the word in Avvar again. She echoed it softly. The way her accent wrapped around his language, giving it the oddest sound, was enchanting. They’d spent the day teaching each other words in each other’s language.

“ _I think this plan was not considered carefully_ ,” Cassandra had said the night before she and the others had left, eyeing the lowlander’s tent suspiciously after Katrina had retired for the evening. “ _She was asking me something about words… Does she expect the rest of us to assist as Augur Corpseflame did_?”

That was when Cullen had remembered that almost no one in his clan could speak common and that Katrina was likely not going to be able to talk to more than a handful of his people.

At least there was Morrigan, though the woman didn’t seem very interested in casual conversation.

He’d just have to be sure to teach her enough of their tongue that she’d be able to ask for help if she needed it while she stayed with them.

Though she had a heavy accent—no doubt he did to her, too—she was picking up the Avvar tongue rather quickly. Morrigan had warned him that if he taught her much more, she would likely talk his ear off, but he couldn’t see that as much of a problem. He liked the way her voice rose and fell, the enthusiasm she put into her tone, the way she occasionally put emphasis on the wrong part of a word.

When Katrina moved to the next hoof, she said the command in Avvar, though Gunvor merely stood there, disinterested in listening. As she tried again, Cullen leaned toward the horse’s ear, whispering the word as quietly as he could. Obediently, the horse raised its hoof.

Katrina let out a triumphant laugh that had Cullen grinning from ear to ear. However, she glanced back at him, and he quickly tried to hide it, not wanting her to know what had really happened. She must have seen the amusement in his eyes, because she gave him a most suspicious once over before going back to tending his horse.

He repeated the assistance on the last two hooves, always making sure that she wasn’t looking before he helped. Though he’d told her that she didn’t _need_ to tend to their steeds, she’d grumbled that she wouldn’t just stand about with nothing to do.

He’d tried to have her help with the tent, but she was a bit too clumsy, and the knots she tied had been a bit too tight, making it hard to adjust when it ended up lopsided. The way she’d been cursing herself, he’d only suggested she not worry about anything so that she wouldn’t be so stressed. After all, with everything going on, she was no doubt dealing with a lot.

She did well with Gunvor, though…when the noble beast chose to listen. Morrigan’s steed was more amicable, too.

Dinner went by quickly, the light fading from the sky and the cold sweeping in in its wake. The days were slowly getting warmer, but Hakkon still had a firm grip on the world during the night.

Morrigan had taken the first watch over their camp, as she and Katrina intended to read by firelight for a while, and Cullen had wished them well, climbing into his tent and trying not to read into the smile that Katrina had given him before he’d turned away.

Sleep came as slow as ever to him, but when it did, his dreams were mild. Mostly, they revolved around his hold and returning home to find things out of place and different, with no one else noticing that everything had changed.

When he woke up, he was filled with a sense that something was off—changed, though he dismissed it as remnant paranoia from his dreams and slipped out to take his shift for the rest of the night. After Morrigan had headed to bed—Katrina had retired a bit earlier, despite trying to stay up and make up for the last few days of unproductivity, or so Morrigan claimed—and Cullen settled down by the fire for the long night.

The flames had such a comforting crackle, mingling with the light creaking of branches as the wind wandered by, kissing his bare skin and tousling his hair.

It would be good to be home.

At least, that was what Cullen kept telling himself.

In truth, as much as he wanted to be home and to seeing his siblings, he really wasn’t looking forward to being back at the hold as thane, and he hated himself for that. These last few weeks had been… freeing. His shoulders had not been weighed down with the pressures of keeping the hold running. He was not his father, and he was not Mia, and he and everyone else knew it.  Leading in combat was easy—the raid had actually been almost refreshing, until his people had begun to fall—but leading in problems of a more domestic nature drove him mad.

Likely, the more important, less immediate problems had been saved for him, so he would be spending the first few days home going over disputes and arranging challenges to allow the Gods to help sort out the more problematic issues.

And he doubted many people would be thrilled to be dragged into this bizarre Lowlander mess.

Cassandra had offered—reluctantly—to be the one to stay with Morrigan and Katrina, even knowing that she likely wouldn’t be able to keep up with any conversations that they had in common. She’d pointed out that the sooner Cullen returned home, the better, that it wouldn’t look good for him to be the only live Lion to fall behind. What if people thought that he had fallen and that Cassandra and the others were trying to cover that something horrible had happened to him.

He’d told her to have someone come out to meet him to prove he was fine. He would only be two weeks behind them, and he had given Katrina his word. After the way she’d cried about being left behind, he hadn’t been able to do that to her again.

“Where’s a mind when it’s lost? Winding, wandering, wrapped around a finger. Hard to mind. It is a pretty one.”

Cullen’s gaze rose to see a familiar face watching him from across the fire, embers reflected in pale blue eyes like fire raining down from the sky, the echoes of an old, forgotten war. The smile under those eyes was innocent enough.

“You…” Cullen leaned forward, half wanting to douse the fire just so he could get a better look at the boy. As though reading his mind, the young man stood up and walked around, sitting beside Cullen.

As Cullen appraised him carefully, the young man nodded his head. “They don’t know that another clan was involved. They’ll hunt the Wolves first. Your clan should be safe.”

“Should?” Cullen quirked a brow.

“Motives driven with rage, thoughts skewed. A clan is not a clan without trust. Too many secrets, too many traditions cast aside. He hides his sins in plain sight.” The young man slouched toward the fire. “The wolves had a spy. I took care of it.”

“A spy?” Cullen furrowed his brow, leaning toward the young man. “What do you mean?” Even as the young man looked a bit frustrated and seemed to think about what he’d said and how to say it differently, Cullen narrowed his eyes. “You mean there was a spy in the Wolves? For the Lowlanders?”

“Yes,” the young man nodded, perking up. “She didn’t like what he’d done. If they were selling themselves, might as well sell high. Neither considered they’d be what the Lowlands call loose ends. They forgot that even a mountain man can tell a secret. The Lowlanders don’t forget so easily.”

Cullen felt a sudden twist in his gut. “Are you saying the Wolves brought this mess on themselves?”

A flash of fear crossed the boy’s face for a moment before he shook his head. He whispered a few things under his breath too quickly for Cullen to keep up with. Then, abruptly, he pointed off to the side. Cullen’s gaze followed his direction, staring out into the woods to see nothing but shadows and trees.

After inspecting the sleeping woods, he let his gaze wander back toward the campfire, that crackle and pop of the burning wood soothing and calm. Even as his mind started to wander back to his clan—they would be alright, though something about that reassurance didn’t sit right with him—he noticed a slight movement to his side and glanced over to see a young blonde man sitting beside him.

“You… you helped me find Katrina.”

His companion seemed relieved by that, settling more comfortably into place beside Cullen. “And _you’re_ helping her now. That’s what matters. She tripped on a strand of the web and caught the spider’s attention. The thread sticks to her still, but you can cut it away.” He tapped his hands against his knees before adding, “Cut carefully.”

Even as Cullen tried to ask what that was supposed to mean, he was sitting alone at the fire. His gaze wandered toward Katrina’s tent before he focused his attention on the fire, getting lost in the flicker and dance of the flames in front of him.

Then, he got up and headed back into his tent.

Somehow he knew, no one would attack the camp tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reads. Your commments, kudos, and readership make my day!


	14. So Close

Cullen sat up with a gasp, feeling a tightness in his chest as sweat dripped from him. The faintest of screams echoed in his ears, remnants of a dream that was already slipping out of focus for him, into a vague, unmemorable haze that so often clouded such nightmares once he’d woken. If only that fog could shake his feelings of unease.

Alas, after years of having such nightmares, he knew that the only thing that would help ease the sickness twisting in his gut would be to get up and meet the day, to show himself that whatever fears played upon his subconscious were idle.

What little he could remember was a twisted body, standing on its own, lumps of flesh in all the wrong places, flesh melted and skin seared.

A fallen God.

He barely thought to tug on his pants before stepping into the cool night air. With a deep breath, he already felt his nerves settling down. It would be a while yet before they’d need to pack up camp, but he doubted he’d be able to go back to sleep.

No one was watching the camp—Cullen felt that should have bothered him, but it didn’t—and the world was so quiet. Sleeping. All around, the trees had unfurled their leaves, though it would be a few more weeks before the foliage would be able to blot out the sky. Even so, it lent a fresh, ‘new’ smell to the air that had him sighing contentedly.

They were back in Red Lion territory, thankfully. In another week, they’d be home. Well, he’d be home. Both of his companions were only drawing further from theirs. If it bothered either of them, they hadn’t said anything. Katrina seemed pretty enthusiastic, actually.

She was learning quickly, too. She might not be as skilled as Cullen or Morrigan, but she was picking up on what to do when packing camp. Under their tutelage, she was getting better every day. It took her twice as long to roll a bedroll, but it looked just as neat as Cullen’s when it was done.

And Gunvor had finally listened to her without Cullen’s assistance last night.

Stretching and leaning into a cool breeze that wound its way around him, Cullen began to walk. He wouldn’t go too far, but he was too restless to stay by the fire, especially with both his dreams and thoughts of Katrina vying for attention.

In the last few days, Katrina had started looking at him differently, like she was noticing him more than before.

All of him.

It was warm enough that a shirt was absurd. He’d catch her watching him as he came back into camp after catching something for dinner, her gaze dipping down to appreciate his form. The first time he’d noticed, he’d laughed—he’d been a bit surprised was all, and hadn’t meant anything by it.

Katrina had turned bright red and retired into her tent early. It had taken half a day before she’d been able to talk to him again, and he was certain that she was still a little embarrassed.

He did his best to pretend not to notice her attentions after that, though he couldn’t help but pay her a bit as well. Her leathers fit her nicely, and she seemed to have adjusted to the cold at least a little. She didn’t hug her arms to herself as much, though she did have a tendency to lean into him while they were riding.

He groaned as he realized that his walk had done little to distract him. At one point he could have just enjoyed the night, but now, his thoughts just wandered back to his little Lowlander, and how she would react to everything.

Two nights ago, they’d camped in a small clearing, and she had been awed by the thousands of twinkling stars overhead. He and Morrigan had told her some of their constellations, and she had pointed out two that she’d known. She’d said that they were generally lower in the sky where she was and he wondered how far north she could be from that the sky itself looked different.

They’d camped close to a ridge that would lead them down toward the base of the mountain. From there, they’d just have to cross a shallow river, travel along another slope, and then onto one last mountain to reach home. Even as he wondered if they were close enough to see the hold’s fires—likely not—he wandered out to the cliff.

As he drew closer, he paused, noticing a figure already seated near the edge, head inclined to stare up into the starry sky.

Katrina.

Was she not sleeping well, either? If so, she’d never mentioned it.

Cullen walked over and took a seat next to her, smiling when she glanced toward him. Her long hair fell down her back and over her shoulders, looking almost like spun moonlight in the darkness. He resisted the urge to reach out and run his fingers through her hair, instead motioning toward the sky. “Our Lady enthralls you, doesn’t she?”

“She is very lovely,” Katrina replied, voice a little heavy with sleep. “When I was little, I used to make up my own stories for how the stars got up there. It drove my teachers insane, especially the one trying to teach me how to read the constellations.”

“You had a teacher just for the constellations?”

“Well, no. He taught other things, too. Math,” she paused, frowning. “He used to take my siblings and me out to stargaze a little ways outside of the city, where the skies were clearer. We’d spend the whole trip out going over little pieces of paper with the dots drawn on them to show which stars were part of what, and then spend all night identifying them as they wandered overhead. I once asked why the stars never sped up, why they were always wandering the same pace every day.”

“What did he say?”

“That I shouldn’t waste my time on questions I would never have the capacity to understand the answers to.”

Cullen frowned. He hadn’t understood the entirety of what she’d said, but her tone—and what he could see of her expression—filled in any blanks. Reaching out, he patted her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Pfft,” Katrina cackled. “Don’t be. I got him back. Taught his girls how to climb out their windows so that they could see the town. He had the worst years of his life trying to rein them in. Even after he forbade it, we still had plenty of adventures. Actually met one of my dearest friends because of them. Their dad was taking my siblings out to stargaze, so we gathered all kinds of folks at his place for a more interesting kind of gathering than those dry dinner parties.” She used her hands to help tell her story, her face lighting up. “About halfway through the night, I noticed some guys eyeing me wrong, so I headed home early. They followed. Kidnappers who recognized a noble when they saw one, I think. I tried ducking down a back alley to get away from them just as this elf falls out a window, all tied up. I undid his ties. He helped me fight off the asses chasing me. Then we sat down and had a nice bottle of wine and watched the sun come up over the city from the rooftops.”

“Your life is never dull, is it?” Cullen asked, cupping his chin in his hand and resting his elbow against his knee. “Kidnappers, assassins, raids, parties.”

“Clarence used to say I was a special kind of blessed.”

With a smile, Cullen nodded. “I think I agree with him.”

Katrina snorted. “I think I just have bad luck.”

“No such thing,” Cullen said, sitting up a bit straighter. “Perhaps the Gods just don’t know what to do with you.”

“Or perhaps they want me to be good and step in and save me whenever my delinquent ways get me in too deep.” She shrugged. “Who can say?”

Their conversation winded on, both offering different stories from their childhoods, doing their best to convey the details to one another in whichever language worked better at the time. Cullen had just finished a tale about how he and Branson had nearly gotten themselves killed hunting a gurgut once when Katrina let out a light gasp.

Glancing over at her, he saw that she’d caught sight of the mountain peaks in the distance as the sun was coming up. Streaks of color lit up the sky, with cones of shadow still taking up most of the night, the mountain tops blocking the sun’s light. The stars had set, along with one of the moons. The other hung low, half hidden behind another mountain.

They sat there, watching the day begin, the Lady’s colors shifting for them, through pinks and oranges to yellows and finally the pale, gentle blue of day. Below, the forest began to glow with that golden light bouncing off bare bark and snow. When it hit some of the more unfurled leaves, their greens were like little emeralds sparkling amidst a wash of diamonds and amber. A river wound through it all, glinting silver.

Cullen turned to watch Katrina as she took it all in, gaze slowly wandering the length of the valley, mouth hanging open slightly. The skin crinkled around his eyes.

Shaking his head, he rose to his feet and lightly touched her shoulder to draw her from her reverie. As she stood up next to him, he paused, pointing west. “Can you see the dip in the…ridge, I think is the word? Over near that stand of green?”

“Where?”

He shifted closer to her, lowering his head so that it was next to hers, the stubble on his cheek just barely brushing against her skin. He brought his arm around her, pointing again. “About halfway down the second mountain’s ridge…there.”

She paused, breath held as she squinted where he was pointing. After a moment, she whispered, “I think so.”

“That’s where we’re going.”

Her attention lingered after he’d straightened up. He noted the rosy hue to her cheeks and wondered if it was because of the ‘cold’ or because of him. Finally, she turned away, and they wandered back toward camp together.

“You must be excited to be going home.”

“I’m already home,” he grinned, motioning around them. No need to tell her of the anxiousness that filled him every time he thought of returning to run the hold. “The Red Lions have held this land for almost forty years. We’ve been blessed to have been able to stay here so long.”

“Do Avvar move often?”

“As often as we have to,” he shrugged. “The mountains can be giving, but there comes a point where we take too much and have to leave so that the land can recover.”

Katrina frowned. “Or Orlesians decide to be assholes.”

“There is that,” Cullen murmured, his earlier good mood slipping as Katrina grounded him back in reality.

She twisted her fingers together as they walked, gaze down. “Will you have to move like the Wolves did?”

He blinked and then looked down at her, arching his brow as he watched her gaze slowly rise to meet his. She was tense as she waited for an answer, a seeming implied, ‘because I brought this on you’ tacked onto her sentence.

Without thinking, he stopped in his tracks and turned to face her, reaching out and lightly cupping her chin in his hand. “We will be fine. As will you. I’ll keep you safe.”

“You say that,” Katrina said, her voice faint, “but at the end of the day, your loyalty is to your hold, is it not? How could it be anything else? If you have to, you’ll—”

“There’s no reason you couldn’t be part of my hold,” Cullen interrupted. He hadn’t been thinking about much of anything, other than he didn’t want to see her look so sad. So lonely. His hand shifted, fingers tracing her jawline and brushing against her ear as he cradled her cheek. “If that’s something you think you’d want.”

The red in her cheeks darkened, spreading to her ears and down her neck as she stared up at him, speechless. He felt heat in his own cheeks as he stared into her hazel eyes, the browns and greens in them like a forest of their own.

She brought her hand up, lightly holding his wrist, but not pulling him away. “I…”

For a moment, all that existed in the world was her. Everything else was muted, waiting on her answer.

He leaned his head forward toward her, searching her face for the answer that seemed caught in her throat and—

“I don’t believe this.”

Cullen blinked, straightening up and turning to glare in the direction that familiar voice had come from. Morrigan stood a few paces away, arms crossed, brow raised, and a look that spoke volumes to her interest in the possibilities of what had just almost happened before her.

However, she had not been the one to speak. Rather, the voice that had interrupted the moment had been someone he’d known far, far longer.

His younger brother, Branson.

Branson stood at Morrigan’s side, bow still slung over his shoulder, expression angry.

Part of Cullen was glad to see his brother—the mere fact that he was there meant that the hold was in good enough condition that the Master of the Hunt had felt it safe enough to venture forth. He’d been away too long, and it was good to know that his brother was healthy and well, strong and unscathed.

That part lost out to the part that was incredibly angry that Branson had the ability to speak. His brow lowered as he glared at Branson. “What?”

Even as he spoke, Katrina slipped out of his hand, her fingers trailing over his skin as she let him go. He snapped his gaze back toward her, though she was already moving past him, her cheeks still a brilliant red. “I should help pack up camp,” she mumbled under her breath.

As she passed Morrigan, the Wolf turned in time with her, heading back to their campsite.

As they disappeared into the trees, Branson paced forward, arms crossed, scowl in place. “Do you remember all your reservations with being thane? All those little things that you don’t like having to do, but you do them because it’s for the good of the hold?” Even as Cullen’s gaze slid toward his brother, Branson pointed at himself. “I’m not supposed to have to do any of that! If you don’t want to do the damned job, find someone to replace you! Don’t shirk everything off on me!”

“Shirk everything off? Everything I do is for the hold!” Cullen snapped back, voice lowering.

“Like disappearing for two months?”

“Raids have lasted longer.”

Branson shook his head, still seething. “But you weren’t gone for a raid the whole time, were you? No. You were off dragging our clan into some mess with the Lowlands!”

“There are Lowlands nobles who have been manipulating dozens of clans, Bran. This is much more complicated than we could have—”

“They mess with clans _near_ them, Cullen,” Branson snapped. He pointed over his shoulder in the direction of their hold. “We don’t live near them! It shouldn’t be our problem!”

Shaking his head, Cullen pointed back north, stepping closer to his brother and willing himself not to shout. “And when they take out all the clans near them and declare their land as part of the Lowlands? When they creep up the slopes until _they’re_ our neighbors? Then will it be our problem?”

“We won’t make the same mistakes the other clans did.”

“And what mistakes did the White Feather Hawks make? What mistakes did the Grey Bears make?” Cullen narrowed his eyes. “Admit it, if this had been the Stone-bears or any clan other than the Shadow Wolves, you wouldn’t care nearly as much.”

Though Branson readied to argue, he snapped his mouth shut at that accusation, shaking his head slowly. For a moment, Cullen thought the argument over, though even as he turned to head back to camp, Branson finally found his voice again. “First Mia, now you. What did they _do_ to you that you can treat them like they don’t deserve whatever the Lowlanders do to them?”

“They didn’t deserve to have their hold razed,” Cullen snapped.

“I think they did,” Branson retorted. He set his jaw, an anger burning in his eyes like Korth himself had fueled his rage. “Did you forget the Veilfire Caverns? How they took one of our most holy places—a place the clans shared—and desecrated it? How they killed our _mother_?”

“Of course I didn’t forget!” Cullen cried out, any semblance of keeping his temper in check gone. He gripped Branson by the arm, shaking him slightly. “I was there when it happened! Of course I _remember_ it!”

His brother didn’t respond, instead staring up at him, wide eyed and still, jaw tense, body rigid.

Cullen let go of him, reaching up and running his fingers through his hair. “Mia said it’s not what we think… and I don’t think it’s as one sided as we were led to believe…I’m going to talk to the elders when I get back.” When Branson didn’t respond, Cullen took in a slow breath and let it out, eyeing him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Branson scoffed. “No.” He shifted his weight, standing a bit prouder. “It’s just sickening to see you cuddling up to a Wolf out here in the middle of nowhere.”

At that, Cullen hesitated, glancing toward the camp and then back at his brother. “I… Cassandra and the others didn’t tell you? Katrina isn’t a Wolf; she’s a Lowlander.”

…-…

Things were complicated. Horribly so.

Katrina was supposed to be saving her sister. She was supposed to be thwarting evil Orlesian nobles and saving the Avvar from their cruel manipulations.

And it felt like she wasn’t doing anything relevant to that at all.

It made sense for her to learn the Avvar’s language. She could better communicate her revelations and the like if she could speak with them quickly, and learning languages had always been something she’d enjoyed.

However, she was enjoying something else a bit too much, as well. Something most distracting.

Or rather, someone.

Her dear thane, Cullen. The man was kind to her, treated her like an equal. The more she was around him, the more she wanted to stay around him. It was a sensation she’d never felt before, a longing, a loneliness when she was with him, wondering if he cared about her at all, or if he’d just been acting in accordance with some Avvar code of honor.

She kept telling herself that she shouldn’t be so concerned with him, but she couldn’t help it. He was so…

It didn’t help that she’d accidentally seen more of him than she’d meant to.

On the seventh or eighth day they’d been traveling—the days sort of ran together out here, in the never ending forest—they’d finally stopped by a stream to freshen up a bit.

Thank the Maker. Or…whoever.

Prior to the stream, they’d been using a bit of their water, but…it wasn’t the same as actually being able to bathe.

Cullen had let the ladies go first, warning Katrina to be quick, as it was still chilly, and he didn’t want her to catch a cold. Chilly…she was from the north. This was still horribly frigid. Granted, it was no longer ‘freezing’, and they came across more and more patches of grasses popping up with unnatural resilience through the ever diminishing snow.

Still.

While it had been cold out, it had also been worth it to scrub some of the grime off and to wash her hair.

She and Morrigan had let him know when they were done, and he’d headed down to the stream. He’d been gone barely a minute when Katrina realized she’d dropped one of her gloves and went back to retrieve it. Her timing had been such that as she came into view of the stream, she’d seen him with his back to her as he kicked off his pants, showing off muscles that moved so perfectly beneath his skin, the light bouncing off his well-shaped form and making him look…

She’d left her glove.

Even now, she could feel Gunvor judging her every time the beast looked her way. It’d seen her go back and then _come_ back, _without_ the missing item. It knew.

Morrigan likely knew, as well, but she had the good graces to not care. It was a small relief. Katrina had tried to talk to Morrigan about Cullen once, and the woman’s response had been something along the lines of, “Please do not mistake me for some dawdling fool of a lady who wishes to waste her time prattling on about feelings and such nonsense.”

At least she spoke the common tongue quite well—that was likely why she’d been sent with them.

Cullen had come back from the stream with her missing glove in hand, offering it to her with some comment about how she needed to be more careful. She’d pretended she’d been looking around the camp for it. Gunvor had neighed—traitor—and Cullen had given the both of them the oddest look, though that may have been because she was glaring at the horse herself.

Ever since, she hadn’t been able to get that image out of her mind—it had been a very pleasant one, after all—and suddenly she was noticing just how good he looked shirtless. Before, looking at him had made her freeze, her mind going to how cold he must be, even if he did insist Avvar didn’t get cold easily.

Now, though…  The thought of him half-dressed, muscles rippling in the sunlight, sweat glistening on his skin… It certainly wasn’t ice running through her veins any longer.

Now she was actually rather content that he found this weather so comfortable.

She might have been able to get over it, given enough time, save for one small problem.

Cullen had noticed. She wasn’t sure if he knew she’d seen him naked, but he knew something had happened. He’d laughed once, and she’d been so sure he’d figured it all out—maybe that stupid horse conveyed it to him somehow—that she’d panicked and hidden for the rest of the night.

Riding with him the next day, she’d wanted to die. Well, not literally.

This had easily been one of the most awkward moments of her life. Prior to this, she’d always assumed her mother was right in her constant grousing that Katrina was completely incapable of shame. The only way it could have been worse would have been if Morrigan had been invested in what was going on. Fortunately, her apathy reigned supreme, and she rarely bothering to even address them unless it was absolutely necessary.

Cullen had been the driving force to get them past that awkwardness. He’d simply pretended it wasn’t there, picking up with their language lessons and acting as though whatever it was between them wasn’t changing with each day, shifting into something Katrina either couldn’t understand or was too afraid to.

He’d told her about the pieces of Avvar culture he thought she would need to know before they arrived at his hold. He’d explained the Gods the second day, though she wasn’t sure how much she’d been able to really take in.

He’d also told her about his hold-beast, Asmund. Apparently the creature was a lion that lived with people and didn’t eat them, but wasn’t a pet. He’d explained that she would have to meet the hold-beast eventually, though that wouldn’t be for a while. He promised to ease her into his culture as best he could.

Cullen had also told her about the different people of the hold she would be dealing with the most. She’d already met Cassandra, the chief warrior and Arena Master. Aside from her, there was Branson, his younger brother and Master of the Hunt; Galyan, the augur; and a few others, including Rosalie, Cullen’s youngest sister.

When Katrina had asked what he would do if Rosalie had been spirited off while he was away, he’d simply frowned and told her that the elders of the hold wouldn’t let that happen, and neither would Rosalie.

He’d been quite confident in his younger sister’s ability to defend herself, a quiet pride swelling his chest and making him quite handsome.

However, ever since that seventh—or eighth—day, every time she glanced up at him as he started to talk about different things, like offerings to Gods or festivals or…anything, really, she was reminded of the way his body had moved as he’d slipped out of his clothes, and then she would be looking out over the landscape around them, hoping to whatever it was that was out there that he’d assume the flush on her cheeks was from the cold.

She’d yet to find some tragic flaw that made him anything less than charming, and she couldn’t help but think that if she’d met him in Starkhaven, she’d have been smitten at a glance. Though…if she’d met him in Starkhaven, his family likely would have already been warned that she was trouble, and he wouldn’t have given _her_ so much as a glance, instead talking with Gregory about politics while she and Michael plotted his family’s demise in the corner over teacakes.

How she missed those two…

Michael would have had Cullen figured out by the end of day one. He was good like that, always able to tell people’s weaknesses and strengths, flaws and perfections. Katrina just had a tendency to run around with blind faith that things would work out…or she had.

Before the Comte.

Truly, a few months prior, she’d have likely been flirting with her dear thane, asking him all sorts of inappropriate questions, and making just enough of a fool of herself that her mother would cry for a week.

That was always how her stories ended, with dear mother in tears as she wondered where she’d gone wrong.

But…things were different now.

Katrina fidgeted as she glanced over toward Cullen’s tent and then to Morrigan, who was tying the last of her things to her steed. “Should we pack up his tent while he’s talking with his…that had to be his brother, yes? They look so alike.”

“I do not know, nor do I care,” Morrigan replied, giving the string one last tug. “However, I will not be laying a finger on his belongings, lest someone cries foul.”

Furrowing her brow, Katrina glanced around. “You think he’d be mad at you for helping?”

“Ah, yes, you could not understand the harsh words, so you wouldn’t know.” Morrigan drew in a weary breath, eyes rolling. “Throughout the mountains, there are…places. They are old and powerful, with magic buried deep in the earth. Fonts, if you will, of the arcane.”

Katrina shifted a little. Magic was so rarely seen in Starkhaven, the same with mages. While she understood that there were mages among the Avvar—that Dorian had been one of them, even—she still wasn’t sure about how she felt about that. The Chant said that magic was dangerous, the Chantry said it should never be allowed to be free.

The Avvar didn’t seem to have all the problems that supposedly went with magic, though.

It was one more thing that made her wonder about her Maker and all the stories she’d been raised on.

Morrigan kept talking, oblivious or uncaring to the discomfort of her audience. “Such places are holy. They draw the Gods to them, and it is a place where even those without magic may go to converse with the Gods.” She paused, adding, “Not that the Gods will just speak with anyone, of course. Tis simply a place where such things are possible. To live near such a holy site is considered a great boon, and if more than one clan is near, it must be shared. Such places cannot be claimed.”

Katrina nodded slowly, hugging her arms to herself as the wind gusted past them, rattling the branches overhead.

“We once had such a place,” Morrigan continued. “The Veilfire Caverns.”

“Once?” Katrina echoed.

“I…” Morrigan glanced in the direction where they’d left Cullen and his brother. Abruptly she motioned for Katrina to step closer and dropped her voice. “I was always told that the Lions were the ones to do the unthinkable. They decided that they didn’t want any other clan to be able to speak with the Gods so freely, and they attacked the Caverns, slaughtering all those inside, eliciting a riot from the Gods themselves as they were corrupted by the heinous act.”

Morrigan’s brow knit together, a pained look settling over her features for just a second. “The Gods were tainted, and we lost our boon.” Her apathy returned as she shrugged. “It has left bad blood between the clans.”

Taking a moment to absorb the information, Katrina reached out to Morrigan when she seemed ready to mount up. “You said you’d heard that? Were they yelling about the Caverns?”

“According to your thane and his clansman, it was my clan who instigated the mess.”

“Could it have been a third clan?” Katrina asked, shifting her weight a little.

“Why would they?”

“To pit you against one another, to—” Katrina stopped, suddenly feeling a knot twist in her stomach. Granted, she didn’t know much about the Avvar in general, but she did know enough about nobles to know that what she was suggested sounding alarmingly…Orlesian.

Morrigan seemed to follow her thoughts without her ever having to voice them. “Perhaps we will find something about it in the journals.”

“Perhaps,” Katrina murmured.

Before she could say anything else, Cullen swept into camp, frown in place as he moved to his tent and began breaking it down quickly. Katrina darted over to him, asking if there was anything she could help with. He lightly caught her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before releasing her. “We’re going to be riding harder today. Do you think you’ll be able?”

Katrina nodded.

Even as she started to point out he hadn’t answered her question, his brother strode up, breezing past her and going to Gunvor, saddling the steed quicker than she could have and preparing it for the day’s ride. His own horse stood near the others, and Katrina felt like a fool for not having noticed the beast before.

After doing her best to stay out of the way and feeling quite useless, camp was packed up. Cullen swung up into his saddle and then offered her his hand, pulling her up so that she could settle behind him on his mount, arms wrapped around his well-toned body.

“Let me know if you need to rest.” His hand brushed over hers briefly before he gathered his reins, leaned forward in his saddle, and set the pace, the other horses galloping to keep up.

Katrina prayed the ride would be a smooth one.


	15. Tangled, Twisted Words and Thoughts

“We should put spiders in his bed roll.”

Cole swayed a little where he sat beside Katrina, gazing at the fire, a slight smile on his lips. “That wouldn’t help.”

“It’d help me plenty,” Katrina muttered, slouching down to pout. Her thighs hurt, and she couldn’t sleep, so she’d decided to get up and wander. As usual, Cole—she wasn’t sure when he’d given her that name to use, only that he had—was guarding the camp, sitting before the fire, watching it dance as he listened to the world around them. In the past two and a half weeks, she’d often gotten up in the dead of night, if only for a few minutes, only to find him there, guarding the whole lot of them. Despite her restlessness tonight, however, wandering had proved too painful, so she’d decided to sit with him rather than pull a blistered muscle.

Being near him seemed to make her aches lessen, too.

Cole straightened from where he sat, eyes unfocused as the flames reflected against the pale blue of his irises, looking something akin to fire raining down from the sky. “Skittering legs, broken branches. They gather and nest. Too close to the hold, have to smoke them out. Wrong way, wrong way. Fall back. No. Yes. Yes, good. They’ll leave us be now.”

Katrina eyed him. “What’s that mean?”

“He knows where to find the bigger spiders.”

With a grumble, Katrina glared toward Branson’s tent. Granted, he hadn’t seemed _as_ angry at her the last two days. Cullen had mentioned briefly that he’d thought she was a Wolf, which had been the main reason he hadn’t liked her. Even so, every time she tried to talk to him—though she didn’t get many chances, admittedly—he still seemed irate, if not cross.

She couldn’t understand most of what he said, and he spoke very little common, so he couldn’t understand most of what she said. Perhaps that was part of the issue. Language barriers could be pains.

With all the riding, she hadn’t been able to practice Avvar much, either. At least she could tend to a fire now. Cullen had even shown her how to roast their dinners on a spit. While it wasn’t much, between that and tending to the horses, she was at least able to pretend that she knew a little of what she was doing.

She wasn’t sure why that mattered, but it did.

As she started to turn back to Cole, her gaze lingered on Cullen’s tent. They’d barely spoken since that morning before they’d begun the harder riding, two days ago. He’d offered her a place in his hold and then…

“Heart pounding, gentle lips, leaned head. So close, so close. Why should it matter so much? Just a second more…a held breath let go too soon.”

“We need to work on what you narrate,” Katrina muttered, finally turning back to eye him.

Cole picked up a small rock from the ground near the campfire and inspected it idly, turning it slowly to see its different facets. “He’s awake right now, if you wanted to talk to him.”

“How do you…” Trailing off, she glanced toward Cullen’s tent again, narrowing her eyes as she leaned her head in one hand, elbow propped against her knee. She drummed her fingers against her cheek. “I don’t know what I’d even say.”

“You could start with an answer.”

“What?”

Blinking owlishly, Cole shrugged, letting the rock drop from his hands. “His question. You could answer it.”

Katrina felt heat creeping up her neck and spilling into her cheeks as she looked back at the fire. “I’d have to have one to do that.”

“You do.”

“If you say so,” she mumbled into her hand. Drumming the toe of her boot against the mostly dried mud—mostly frozen was more like it—near the campfire, she tilted one way and then the other. “So. I’ve been wondering. I never see you riding with anyone. How do you keep up with us?”

“Easily.”

Even as she scowled and looked up to tell him that wasn’t what she’d meant, she found herself alone at the campfire. She twisted her lips to one side, glaring at where he’d been. “I still remember you, you know. I’m getting better at that.”

“Focus, focus, focus. Words that matter and words I want. Sometimes a boy. What was his name? Never mind that. I think I’m mad at him, anyway.”

The words drifted around her without a speaker.

Getting up, she grudgingly made her way back to her tent, though she stopped short of going in. Hand on the flap, she found her attention wandering back toward Cullen’s. Was he really awake? Who had told her that? It had been someone reliable.

Before she really knew what she was doing, she was kneeling in front of Cullen’s tent, fingers just barely curled around the edge of the flap. Should she knock? On what, the tarp? What if he wasn’t really awake after all? If she just crawled in, that would be strange, wouldn’t it?

It would. Most definitely strange.

“Cullen?” She whispered. Silence reigned. Dammit, wasn’t she supposed to call him Thane Magicsbane? He’d asked her to call him that, forever ago, and she’d completely forgotten. It didn’t help that she only thought of him as Cullen in her head. Leaning a little closer to the tent, she tried again. “Thane Magic—”

Quite abruptly the tent flap drew back, and Cullen was staring at her, slightly bewildered and clearly groggy. His hair was a tousled mess, his curls wilder than usual as they hung like a shaggy curtain around his face.

Katrina nearly tumbled backward when he appeared so suddenly, narrowly managing to catch herself as she rocked back. At the same time, Cullen lightly gripped her arm to help steady her.

When they were both sure she wouldn’t topple over, Cullen quirked a brow and motioned to her. “You should be sleeping.”

“So should you,” she retorted with an eye roll. At her words, he seemed to realize he was still holding her arm and quickly let go. Katrina shifted a little and then motioned toward his tent. “Um…can I come in? It’s cold away from the fire.”

Cullen laughed, and Katrina was surprised at how the way his smile tugged on the scar on his lips made her feel like butterflies had gotten caught in her chest. “This is nice weather,” he murmured as he moved away from the tent’s entrance to allow her room to come in.

Even as she slipped in, a blanket dropped around her shoulders. Cullen had already seated himself on his bedroll and patted the spot beside him for her to sit. Pausing to tug off her shoes first, she curled up with the blanket wrapped around her, toes tucked carefully beneath it so that they wouldn’t freeze.

When she met his gaze, he was still grinning, though his smile slipped somewhat, and he scratched at the back of his neck before motioning to her. “You… wanted to speak about something?”

“Well, yes,” Katrina hesitated. What could have possibly possessed her to think this was a good idea? Part of her wanted to just bolt for the exit, figuring that Cullen wouldn’t follow. Or if he did, he’d stop short of coming into her tent after her. “About the other day…”

Quite abruptly she wondered if she wanted to say yes to Cullen’s offer because she liked the prospect of being able to stay near him, or if she was just afraid of going home to face the truth that she no longer had one. What if she was just projecting her abandonment issues onto him? She had gotten irrationally upset when he’d left, and even yelled at him when he’d come back.

For fuck’s sake…

“I…” Katrina took in a deep breath, held it and closed her eyes. “I kind of misled you when we first talked,” she whispered. She heard him shift slightly in his seat, felt those butterflies from earlier turn to stones, and began talking, probably a bit took quickly. “I was basically fucking kidnapped and didn’t know if rank would matter, and I thought being a noble might make you all less likely to kill me—well, not you specifically, but seeing as Thane Blackwall was such a bastard and you two clearly weren’t on good terms with one another, so I…sort of lied.” She opened her eyes, but couldn’t bring herself to look at Cullen. “I was disowned. I have no rank, no titles. I’m essentially dead to my family.”

Tears pricked her eyes as saying the words seemed to finally make it real. It wasn’t just a worry in her head that she could shake with a few quips and feigned ignorance. She had been disowned.

For standing up for her fucking sister.

For doing what her damned family should have done to begin with.

This whole thing was so ridiculously stupid…

Arms wrapped around Katrina, drawing her to the side and messing up her perfectly placed blanket, exposing her toes to the cold. She forgot them as Cullen drew her to him, resting her head against his shoulder and stroking her hair. She leaned into him, her arms slipping out from under her blanket to wrap around him.

Despite feeling like she could burst into tears, she managed to rein in her unruly emotions after a few sniffles.

“It’s alright to cry,” Cullen murmured, leaning back a little to look down at her, concern clear on his features.

“And get my face all wet and freeze to death? No, thank you,” Katrina mumbled, reaching back for the blanket and tugging it closer to her.

Cullen’s grin returned, the backs of his fingers brushing her cheek dry. “I can keep you warm.”

Katrina buried her face against his shoulder to hide her embarrassment at his words. He probably didn’t know how that could be taken multiple ways. Even as her mind wandered back to his offer from the other morning, she promptly realized she was curling up with him. She started to straighten up, but stopped herself.

Maker’s ass and overthinking aside, this was where she wanted to be.

When he adjusted the way he was sitting a little to better keep her wrapped in the blanket, another thought occurred to her, and Katrina had to fight back a groan. With a sigh, she mumbled against his shoulder, “You didn’t understand half of what I said, did you?”

Cullen had resumed stroking her hair, and his hand paused as she spoke before resuming the soothing repetition. “I…not all of it.”

Lifting her head, she rocked back a little, a shiver running up her spine as his hand slid against her back, allowing her the freedom to leave, if she so chose. “Long, teary rant short, I’m not a lady anymore.”

…-…

“Cullen, are we leaving or—”

Prior to the comment, Cullen had been quite content, drifting in a state somewhere between dreaming and waking, a gentle warmth curled inside of him. Regardless of what might come or what had already happened, the world at present was as it was meant to be.

While the words reached some part of his subconscious, it was the vigorous shake to his foot that finally prompted him to lift his head and open one eye as he stared down toward the entrance to his tent. Branson knelt there, disbelieving scowl in place, fingers still gripping Cullen’s toes, ready to give him another shake if he didn’t answer fast enough.

“Is it time to go already?”

“I don’t believe you,” was Branson’s hissed response.

At Branson’s words, Cullen glanced slowly, sleepily around his tent, trying to fathom what his brother was on about this time. First it was a _travesty_ that they’d helped the Wolves, then his infatuation with a Lowlander, now…

He stopped his survey when he found Katrina beside him, head still resting against his shoulder, one arm slung across his chest. One of his hands was clasped around her bare one and the other was tangled in her hair. She was snuggled tightly underneath a blanket that he’d been considering not bothering to unpack the day before.

Thank the Lady for small miracles.

“You said you didn’t steal her,” Branson said, glaring pointedly when his voice elicited a soft groan from Katrina.

Carefully, Cullen slipped out from under her, smiling faintly when she curled into herself as soon as he was gone, mumbling something about the cold, though it wasn’t enough to wake her. He brushed some of her hair back from her face, fingertips lingering on her cheek before he finally hauled himself up and out of his tent.

The sun wasn’t even over the mountain peaks yet. He turned to Branson, who now stood beside him, arms crossed. “I didn’t steal her.”

“Then why are you sleeping with her?” Branson snapped. He pointed toward the tent. “Don’t you remember the stories? Lowlanders equate sex to bonding forever and all that nonsense!”

Cullen scratched at his bare chest, nails scraping across his light dusting of chest hair as he stared at Branson, his brain still too muddled with sleep to be able to muster the concern deemed necessary by his brother. While he could, admittedly, remember those stories, he’d couldn’t help but consider that the thought of forever wasn’t nearly as terrifying as Branson was making it out to be.

“We didn’t have sex.”

Rubbing his hands against his face so that they covered most of it, Branson finally spread his fingers just enough to peek at Cullen. “If she was just one, single Lowlander, whose presence wouldn’t drag her world into ours, I could see this working. There’d be a ridiculous amount of grumbling in the hold, but people would get over it, so long as she was willing to respect our traditions. But you yourself said she’s going to have assassins or whatever other manner of Lowlanders coming for her. The longer she’s with us, the more danger _we’re_ in.” He paused, spitting to the side and glaring at the tents still up. His was—of course—already packed. “Why should we die for what the Wolves have done?”

“I’m not having this argument with you again,” Cullen muttered. His earlier calm was slowly being whittled away by Branson’s concerns. As much as he’d like to dismiss them, the truth was that even if he wasn’t too worried—after all, Lowlanders didn’t come this far south, so if they did figure out that Katrina was with them, they’d be stumbling blind, giving the Avvar time to prepare and pick them off—Branson’s fears would be echoed over and over in the hold. Cullen needed to have answers for them, needed to have good reasons for why Katrina belonged with them. With him.

He’d been hoping to talk with Galyan, his augur, about it before addressing the hold. The Gods had defended Katrina before, so surely they would do so again. Once they’d spoken, no one would be able to do much of anything about her presence, regardless of whether they disliked her.

Branson set his jaw, clearly trying not to sulk as he crossed his arms. “We’ve already lost Mia. We don’t need to lose you, too.”

Clapping an arm around Branson’s shoulders, Cullen tousled his brother’s hair, grinning when Branson cried out and batted him away. “What do you think is going to happen? Katrina’s going to drag me back to her Lowlands to be her husband?” Even as Branson scowled at the absurdity of it—they both knew that Lowlanders didn’t steal their partners—Cullen’s smile slipped, his gaze wandering back toward his tent. He thought back to the night before. “Honestly, I don’t think she _can_ go back to the Lowlands.”

At that, Branson paused, shifting his weight. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She said she’s not a lady anymore,” Cullen murmured, the events coming more clearly into focus and further ruining his mood. She’d come to see him out of the blue, just to tell him that—he’d been rather hoping her appearance would have had something to do with his offer to her, though it hadn’t been brought up.

Cullen hadn’t been able to keep up with most of her explanation—she’d been speaking far too quickly for that—but he was certain that with the way she’d seemed so upset that it was a recent turn of events. Despite wanting to ask her more about it, she’d shifted the conversation away to idle stories that had little to do with anything, and he had listened and shared his own, not wanting to force her to talk about something that obviously pained her.

She’d fallen asleep telling him about a dwarven writer she’d met once at a book signing, and he hadn’t seen a point in waking her up just to take her to her tent when he could let her rest with him. There was no harm, surely.

“What do you mean she’s not a lady anymore?” Branson asked, suspicion thick in his voice.

With a shrug, Cullen motioned toward the tent. “That’s what she said.”

“Tis likely because of her time spent alone in the company of men.”

Both Branson and Cullen turned to see Morrigan was up and already breaking down her own tent. She didn’t bother looking at them as she continued. “Is it not true that Lowlanders’…purity is highly valued? She cannot be wed if she cannot prove that she has kept herself from another man’s bed. And after being in the wilderness so long, with the ‘barbaric’ Avvar, who will believe her when she goes home and says that nothing happened?”

“She wouldn’t have come into my tent—” Cullen tried to object. There was no way this could be their fault. He felt knots twisting in his stomach, though…

The reason Morrigan was the one coming with them out of all the Wolves was because she was not only knew the common tongue so well, but was also particularly well versed in all matters involving the Lowlands. She’d studied it for quite some time, and Thane Blackwall and Dorian had thought her expertise would be useful in further translations.

“If I had to guess, ‘twould be that this happened far before our little venture back to your hold. She was left alone with Dorian, was she not?” Morrigan kept packing away her things, still not deeming the Lions worth her direct attention. “We thought of healing her, but her culture dictates that a man and woman must not be left alone together, lest something scandalous happen.” Morrigan rocked back onto her feet, holding her bundled tent under an arm as she finally met their gazes. “Tis irrelevant that she’d never need worry about any misstep on Dorian’s part, as he’d be more likely to steal you than her,” she pointed at Branson, and then let her hand slip back down to her side.

As Branson and Cullen exchanged an uneasy look, Morrigan shrugged. “By saving her, you ruined her in the eyes of her people. If she says she cannot go home, ‘twould be why.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the kudos, comments, and reading!


	16. Flitting, Fluttering, Butterfly Heartbeats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take whatever expectations you have for romance in this fic and lower them slightly.

“Your people deal with Lowlanders far more frequently than mine. Surely you could have thought of this before healing her? You could have had a woman healer tend to her or…” Cullen shook his head, pacing a little, trying to calm himself and keep from snapping at Morrigan.

This wasn’t right.

According to the Shadow Wolves’ expert on Lowlanders, Katrina was no longer considered a lady because she had been left alone with men. It seemed ridiculous at best, but even Cullen had heard the stories of the Lowlands. They held sex and marriage in a more permanent manner than the Avvar. To them, sleeping around could bring ruin to a family.

That they could be _so_ rigid about this, though…

Morrigan rolled her eyes, keeping her voice even as she retorted, “You are missing the point. She has been out of sight of chaperones and her kind. It wouldn’t matter if she’d been captured by an all-female raiding party. Should she go home, they won’t believe her if she says she’s been chaste. She was lost to her world the second she became involved with the raid.”

“Which wasn’t her fault.” Cullen scowled.

However, before Cullen could try to think of some way to right this travesty, a voice interrupted his thoughts.

“It’s a little early for righteous indignation, isn’t it? Well, not for Starkhaven. We breathe that sort of thing, but I didn’t expect it quite so far south…”

Turning in time with Branson, he watched Katrina crawl out of his tent, stiff, hair a frizzy mess, leathers wrinkled, blanket still hugged about her. She stretched, cracking her shoulders before meeting his gaze, her eyelids still heavy with sleep. She blinked a few times before narrowing her eyes. “Or did I misread the tone of your yelling?”

“We were discussing how you are no longer a lady,” Morrigan replied curtly, already packing her things onto her steed.

“Didn’t really think that was _every_ one’s business, but alright…” Katrina’s expression was one of distinct displeasure, and Cullen felt guilt needling his stomach. She’d told him in confidence, a confidence he hadn’t kept—he should have realized such a thing would be private. She folded his blanket and then set it back just inside his tent and began tugging on her leathers, dragging them back into place as she fought back a shiver or two. Her brow pinched together, her hands pressing against her hips. “So the yelling was for…?”

“Your situation isn’t fair,” Cullen said, stepping up to her and lightly taking her hand.

At that, Katrina let out a dry laugh. “Well, kind as your words are, they do not, unfortunately, change anything.”

Cullen scratched at the back of his neck, frown in place as he watched her glance around and then sigh. Morrigan had left Katrina’s bedroll on the ground, yet to be rolled. As Katrina stepped over to it and began to pack it with such careful, unsure movements, Cullen walked over and knelt beside her. “When all of this is over, where do you intend to go?”

“Go?” Katrina echoed, blinking up at him, fingers digging lightly into her bed roll to keep it from coming undone. “My dear thane, I typically do not know what I’m doing the next day, let alone figuring out where I’ll be once all of this is over. I don’t even know how long this,” she paused to motion toward the books packed away on Morrigan’s horse, “will be.”

“But you cannot go home,” Cullen clarified, brow knit together.

Holding her breath for a second, Cullen could swear she might cry. However, she merely shook her head, sighing. “Well, worst case? I could head to Ferelden, like I’d originally planned. Clarence won’t be there, but I’m sure I could figure something out.”

“You could stay with us,” Cullen reminded her, his voice soft as he reached out to brush back her hair.

“You say that now,” Katrina retorted, her voice lighthearted. However, as Cullen leaned forward to get a better view of her face, he saw worry there for just an instant. When she looked at him, she seemed fine, a half smile in place as she lightly tapped the back of her knuckles against his arm. “But when your hold’s luck turns sour, you’ll have a different story.”

“I already told you: there’s no such thing as luck.”

When she’d finished packing her bedroll, he took it from her, securing it to Gunvor. Part of him wanted to go off about the stupidity of Lowlander culture, of the ridiculousness of being exiled for matters completely out of her control, but Cullen had been a bit taken aback at how readily she had accepted her fate.

He had a hard time believing that fire in her would honestly let such a thing pass. He could still see that brilliance burning in her, see it simmer to the surface every now and again—especially when she found something particularly vile in those books or when her sister was mentioned. It had yet to burn as bright as that night she’d stood against him, but then, she hadn’t been in that sort of situation again, had she?

It just seemed odd that she wouldn’t fight against this…

Branson had already set to taking down Cullen’s tent, not bothering to wait for a request for aid. With the two of them working together, they were ready to go in no time. The whole lot of them wolfed down a quick meal—mostly dried fruits and nuts—and packed the leftovers. Once they’d made sure that their camp had been completely dismantled, they headed to their steeds.

Katrina trailed after Cullen. Since they’d started riding harder again, he’d noticed she seemed a little stiffer and a little slower each day. If Branson hadn’t insisted that the hold required its thane, he might have offered to spend the day where they were, to allow her some time to rest.

The thought occurred to him that he could likely leave her with Branson and Morrigan, continuing on by himself back to the hold. The others could take their time, and he could have everything sorted out by the time she arrived.

He paused, drumming his fingers against Gunvor’s saddle as he stood there, considering it. Her fingers brushing against his arm brought him out of his thoughts. “Don’t we need to go?”

“You don’t ride well,” Cullen murmured.

At that, he was pleased to see a slight flicker in her eyes as she scowled. “I’ve not complained about it, have I?”

“You don’t have to. I can see that you hurt.”

Crossing her arms, Katrina let her gaze wander away from him. “I’m quite good at voicing displeasure when it happens. If I couldn’t ride, I’d say something.”

“You could go at a slower pace with Branson,” Cullen offered. When Katrina narrowed her eyes, he quickly added, “He’d keep you safe. I promise.”

She’d stepped closer to Gunvor, one of her hands resting against the creature’s shoulder. She drummed her fingers gently against the beast before peering back up at Cullen. “You said we’re almost to your hold, though, didn’t you?”

“Another two days of hard riding.”

Katrina scoffed. “I can handle two days easily.”

Cullen reached out to her, catching her chin and inspecting her carefully, looking for any tell that she was grandstanding. She lightly caught his wrist, standing a bit straighter despite herself.

“Have some faith, would you?”

With a smile, Cullen let go of her and swung up onto his steed. He helped her up, and, as she settled in behind him, wrapping her arms around him, he leaned back to whisper to her, “If you decide you do want to ride slower, all you have to do is ask.”

She leaned forward, nodding her head against his back. With a smile, he nudged Gunvor into a trot and then into a run, the steed easily navigating the woods that it had been raised in. 

As they went, they passed different landmarks that Cullen knew well, and he found himself wanting more and more to stop and point things out to Katrina. He wanted to show her the waterfall he and his siblings had leapt off throughout their youth, to show her to coves where one could hide when the world got to be too much, or cliffs that glittered with ancient, crystalline rocks. He felt her lift a little away from him as they passed one of the oldest trees in the territory, its budding branches reaching ever higher as though to brush the Lady herself.

He’d thought to slow Gunvor for a little while, to let her enjoy the scenery—she’d complained about all the trees looking the same once or twice during their travels, but had still had her breath stolen by the occasional copse or ancient oak that towered above the others.

However, such things could wait. The hold would come first. Then, once things had settled, he could spend time with her, taking her back to these quiet places, showing her what could be her home, if she wanted it so.

When they finally stopped for the night, it was hard not to just push the group to ride straight through. If they did, they could reach the hold by the morning. They could see the sunrise from one of the winding paths up the mountainside, home at last.

After all these weeks of dreading this return, Cullen was surprised at how much he suddenly wanted to be back. It would be good to be in his own hold, his own home, his own bed. So what there would be some problems that would likely need sorting out. They would be sorted in a few days and then things would settle into some semblance of normalcy.

It would be the same.

The same, yet altered. Katrina would be there. As would Morrigan.

Getting the hold to accept Morrigan in their midst would be _the_ most arduous task at hand. Thanks to his mother’s influence and the fact that they never dealt with them, Lowlanders were more of a curiosity than a threat, and Katrina would likely be accepted faster… though the possibility of attack would put a damper on that.

Cullen could figure it out. He’d have to.

He felt an odd sensation ripple through him. It would be fine. The Orlesians wouldn’t know to look for Katrina down here, and by the time they figured out she wasn’t with the Wolves, Cullen’s group’s trail would have gone cold.

As he debated the trials and tribulations coming up and how they would likely be conquered for more easily than he’d originally worried, he turned to glance over his shoulder and found that odd young man standing near one of their tents—Branson’s.

“He’s a bundle of frets, but they’re untangling,” Cole whispered, slowly wringing his hands as he let his gaze wander over the rest of their camp. Branson had gone to sleep early, no doubt intending to wake everyone up before the sun could again in the morning.  Katrina and Morrigan had retreated to their own tent to read—despite being exhausted, Katrina had seemed well enough to put in the effort tonight.

Or had that just been her trying to prove that she was fine? She could be quite stubborn, couldn’t she?

Cole walked slowly to the fire and sat down.

“Is this the part where you send me off to dream?” Cullen asked, a half smile on his lips as he eyed the odd boy, vague memories of similar evenings from the past few weeks bubbling up in his mind.

No, not a boy. He was a God of some sort, wasn’t he?

“Drifting, drifting, quiet everywhere. Too quiet. The world needs sound. Not the screams, though. Please don’t let those come back.” As Cullen’s smile slipped, Cole glanced up at him, his large eyes unblinking. “Your knots are harder to untangle. They’re so old. Too much time has been caked to the strings. They don’t want to come undone. She helps, though, I think.” He paused and then nodded, mostly to himself. “She gives you something else to dream about.”

Cullen shifted a little uncomfortably. Before he could say anything in response, however, Cole frowned. “I’m sorry. I said that wrong. You should forget.”

With a blink, Cullen glanced around the empty camp and felt a yawn swelling in his chest. It would be another long ride tomorrow, and he needed to be well rested. It wouldn’t do to have him falling off his own steed, taking Katrina down with him.

He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips and crinkled the skin around his eyes as his mind wandered to her. He’d almost asked her to share his tent when they’d stopped for the night, but had waited a little too long. By the time he’d finally gotten the courage, she’d excused herself from the fire to go read.

Giving her tent one last glance, he noted the soft fire flickering against the tarp from inside, casting shadows against the tent of the two inside, still reading.

His smile was still in place as he headed to bed.

…-…

“If you’re going to share his tent, you might as well just do it. There’s no point in being coy,” Morrigan said as she set her book down and lounged back on her bedroll, on top of the covers of course. It was ‘warm’ enough now that none of the Avvar needed blankets.

Katrina shifted a little on her own bedroll, head drooping despite her resolve to get through at least ten pages of the journal she was currently on. Since Morrigan’s explanation of what had happened at the Veilfire Caverns, Katrina had wondered if perhaps this was something that had been done by Orlesians, and might be found in the journals. What if both clans were innocent? The thought made her sick.

Morrigan’s accusations, however, made that swimming nausea shift to fluttery flips that did nothing for her disposition. “It was just the one time—”

“Please, do not insult me,” Morrigan muttered, slinging an arm over her eyes. “I know you leave almost every night.”

Not to go to him, though.

Yes, she’d thought about it plenty of times, but mostly she’d wandered the woods near their tents, walking off leg cramps and stretching her muscles. Her bedroll was comfortable enough, but she dearly missed to sleeping in real beds.

Maker, how long had it been since she’d been in a real bed?

At the slower traveling pace, she’d been able to ease most of her aches with a bit of a stretch, examining the trees, talking to someone…

A blonde boy she couldn’t quite remember. He had an odd way about him, but his heart was in the right place, and he helped make sure she never wandered too far from their camps.

With the rougher riding, however, Katrina’s legs hurt too much to wander, and she could feel tension building in her shoulders and back, in her neck. Her arms were sore from having to cling to Cullen, as well.

One more day.

One more day and they’d be at his hold, and with luck, she’d never have to ride another horse again.

Admittedly, that was completely impractical, but still. The thought of existing in a world where horses were just pretty things that didn’t race faster than a canter was blissful. She doubted Gunvor would like a life like that, though. The steed liked the wind in its mane, the woods flying past them as he galloped onward.

Katrina shifted a little where she lay, and a dozen pains screeched briefly for release. As she stilled, they settled back into dull, forgettable aches, save of course her legs. She was out of the salve that Morrigan had given her, too.

Tomorrow would truly be a nightmare.

One more day…

Cullen had mentioned that his augur was a healer, one more invested in the living than Dorian had been. Perhaps when they arrived at the hold, she could talk to him and ask for healing. Or would that be too forward?

Perhaps she could ask Cullen about etiquette. Though, that would just make him worry.

She smiled down at the pages in front of her as she thought of how he’d offered to try to ease her journey. It had been sweet, but largely pointless. Once they were off these beasts, she’d have a chance to heal up, even if they couldn’t or wouldn’t offer her magical healing.

It was better to get this over with faster.

Though…that would mean that she’d be throwing herself into reading more once they’d reached their destination and that this task would be finished faster. Despite Cullen’s offer, she would need to go back to Orlais at some point. She couldn’t very well settle her own scores while living happily ever after on the edge of the world with a handsome thane.

Maybe after that was said and done…

If she left, though, she would never be able to find her way back. Damned trees and their duplicitous nature, all looking just like the ones beside them.

Using a small leaf that she’d plucked earlier in vengeance to mark her page, Katrina closed her journal and sat up slowly, gritting her teeth against the chorus of aches that flared yet again.

“Well, since you know oh-so-much of my dealings, I shan’t want to disappoint you,” Katrina said, imitating the way she’d often heard Amelia deal with those who made scandalous assumptions. She stretched her back and instantly regretted it as tensions spread through her, threatening to tighten and lock in place.

“There is no need to be glib just because your secret is out,” Morrigan muttered, arm still over her eyes as Katrina slumped forward a little too quickly. “If you wished to keep it, you should have returned to our tent before the morn.”

Despite wanting to argue with Morrigan that she really had no clue what she was talking about, Katrina had a feeling that it would be like yelling at a brick wall. Pointless and completely unsatisfying.

Instead, she leaned toward Morrigan and whispered, “Well, you know how those torrid love affairs go. More fun with a risk.”

When she saw Morrigan’s lips twist into a frown, she retreated from their tent. The woman could, after all, conjure flame at will.

Cullen had already retired for the evening, much to her disappointment.

It was probably for the best. Knowing her, she’d probably say something stupid like, “Mind if I join you tonight? Sleeping on you is so much more comfortable than the ground.”

Yes. Surely, it was every man’s dream to know that he was more companionable than dirt.

Granted, there were a few blankets between her and said dirt, but still…

Maker. She was so tired she was contemplating the accuracy of a failed flirt she’d never even used.

Even as she pursed her lips and wondered what to do—going back into her tent wasn’t something she particularly wanted to do at the moment, and wandering about was out of the question—Morrigan’s conjured light from inside their tent went out.

She glanced around the camp another minute before finally walking over to Cullen’s and kneeling beside it, with a bit of effort. “Thane…?”

She heard stirring inside and waited patiently until Cullen was there, opening the tent flap to peer out at her. When he tilted his head, that smile of his tugging on his scar, she motioned toward him. “You weren’t sleeping yet, were you?”

“No, not yet.” He slid back, motioning for her to come in. As she did, he seemed to hesitate though, as if something made him want to retract his invitation.

Katrina paused, ignoring the sharp pains in her legs that pleaded she just sit down. “Is there a…” Her eyes widened as she looked up at him. “I’m not… I’m not ruining your reputation coming in here like this, am I?”

She hadn’t even considered that before. What was the Avvar’s stance on visiting private quarters after dark? Since her time here, they’d seemed so much laxer about pretty much everything that her society had to have a stick up its arse about that she hadn’t considered there might be more commonalities than she’d thought.

The look he gave her was…almost pitying as he shook his head. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

While it did leave her wondering about what had made him hesitate, she came into his tent fully. He moved lithely to his bedroll, patting the space beside him, as he had the night before. “What brings you to me tonight?”

“I…”

Maker, don’t say the stupid comment about dirt.

“Do I need a reason?” She shrugged a little too casually, settling in beside him. When she glanced up at him, he was watching her, eyes narrowed slightly as though he were trying to read her, as though she was some cryptic creature, foreign to him. That…wasn’t very far off the mark, was it? Suddenly finding her nails considerably more interesting, she inspected them idly. Despite all the mayhem she’d been through, they were in fairly decent condition. “I came by tonight because, well… Last night was…”

Nice.

How could a single word be so hard to say?

She took in a breath, steeling herself to try again. “What I mean is…” She could feel the flush in her cheeks, burning the tips of her ears and the back of her neck.

Maker, what was she, a child?

It wasn’t as though she’d never been kissed, or as if she was a virgin. That ship had sailed years ago, with a rather handsome young noble who had promised her the world only to recant the next morning, even as she daydreamed of being his.

However, even that spineless prat hadn’t made her feel this way. That horde of butterflies that had settled in her ribcage belonged to Cullen alone, as did the giddy, light-headed feeling that was settling over her now as she tried to think of what to say that would contain these feelings, do them justice.

“Katrina…?”

Cullen was leaning toward her, legs crossed in front of him, head dipped forward a little so that his hair hung around him like a shaggy, curly halo.

“I like it when you’re nearby.”

Maker save her. That was as bad as the dirt comment, wasn’t it? Like he wasn’t nearby all the time. The fact that she could curse a stranger to pieces with hardly a thought, but could barely vocalize what _this_ man meant to her…

What kind of a fool—

Even as she berated herself, his hands cupped her cheeks, his palms warm against her skin, and he drew her closer to him. As his lips brushed against hers, Katrina’s mind completely blanked. All her anxieties, all her problems evaporated from her mind as her eyes drifted closed, shutting out everything save for the feel of his mouth against hers.

She leaned into his kiss. Her hands slid against his chest and up, until she could bury her fingers in his wild curls. While one of his hands moved to cradle the back of her neck, his other hand traced down along her throat to her collarbone and across to her shoulder. His fingers trailed over her skin, leaving behind a tingling sensation that sent shivers through her.

When they broke apart for breath, Katrina couldn’t help a lightheaded giggle, leaning forward further to nip his lip as he smiled back at her.

A slight pain lanced through her back as she stretched up to kiss his scar, reminding her that as pleasant as his company was, she was still fairly sore from the day’s ride.

Cullen shifted his legs so that he could follow her as she rocked back, though he hesitated when he noticed her wince. For a moment, he looked confused. Then, a frown settled into place as he lightly ran his fingers along her jawline. “You’re hurting.”

“I…no.” The word dragged slightly, her attempt at deception poor at best.

Letting his head hang down for a moment, he let out a soft groan. When he looked back up at her, his smile had returned, an almost mischievous spark in his eyes as he sat back, holding his hands out to her to draw her to him gently. “You will be the end of me. You know that?”

“I should hope not,” Katrina murmured as she leaned against him. He lay back slowly, stretching out across his bedroll and bringing her with him. When she was happily nestled against him, the feel of his toned body pressed against her making those butterflies in her chest go wild, she added, “I’m rather fond of you, after all.”

Cullen let out a soft laugh, clasped one of her hands, and brought it up to his lips so that he could kiss her palm. “Sweet dreams, Katrina.”


	17. Careful Missteps

Cullen lay in the grass beside Katrina, an arm slung over his eyes as he steadied his breathing, sweat glistening on his skin in the early morning light. His lips twitched into a smile as he heard Katrina sigh. “You’re getting better, you know.”

“Still can’t keep up with you,” Katrina muttered.

He heard her shift beside him and lifted his arm enough to peek out at her. She’d sat up, her long pale hair having tumbled out of the bun she’d put it in earlier, and falling in crazy tangles down her back, sleek with sweat and dew.

She flipped one of her daggers into the air and caught it, her attention glued on the way the light glanced off its smooth edge.

“I think you could take on an Orlesian or two.”  Cullen sat up as well, shifting closer to her and nudging her with his elbow before he rested his chin on her shoulder. When she turned to him, eyes rolling slowly, he grinned. “Without having to trick them into jumping off a cliff.”

Even as she playfully shoved him, she tossed her dagger into the grass near them. “You just want an excuse to pin me down.”

Shifting closer to her, his lips brushed against her neck. “Do I need a reason for that?” He paused before adding, “I like it when you’re nearby.”

At that she elbowed him in the chest before burying her face in her hands. “Shut up!”

Her ears were red.

He didn’t doubt that she regretted telling him she was embarrassed of how she’d told him she felt for him, thinking it a bit too… too awkward or simple or… something. Cullen wasn’t really sure what the problem was, but he did enjoy the way she got so flustered when he brought it up. It usually ended with her curled up against him, hiding her smile against his shoulder as she tried—and failed—to stop blushing.

They’d arrived at Red Lion Hold a little over a month ago, though it hardly seemed it. The weather had warmed up far faster than usual, and the rumor was the Gods were taking mercy on the Lion’s wayward guest.

Even so, Katrina still said the nights were cold.

Cullen didn’t mind that at all. It usually meant she ended up, again, curled up beside him.

While he enjoyed her company a great deal, they hadn’t gone much farther than actually sleeping together. Yes, hands wandered and lips locked on occasion, but Cullen couldn’t help but think of what Morrigan had said about Katrina being exiled. A silly part of him hoped that if he could respect her culture, that they might yet find a way for her to be able to return to her family someday.

After all, she had yet to accept his offer to stay at his hold.

On more than one occasion, he’d thought she might, but each time, something had stopped her. Someone had interrupted the conversation—usually Jim, as he seemed to have the worst timing in the history of Thedas—or something would distract one of them and, in the instances that he was the guilty party, he would realize too late that the subject he prayed to be breached every day had been on the cusp.

And so they remained in a strange sort of limbo, with Cullen fighting the desire to ensnare his dear Lowlander in his world and also trying to keep just enough distance that she would be free to go her own path.

Even as he brushed back her hair, loving the way the sunlight danced across her skin as the leaves overhead played in the wind, a voice carried into the large grotto they’d taken to sparring in every morning—after all, Katrina needed to be able to defend herself better.

“Thane!”

With a sigh, Cullen straightened up. Looking over his shoulder, he frowned as Jim loped up, stopping a few feet short of them and ducking his head in a quick acknowledgment of rank.

“Grim just got back from a hunt early. Got knocked up pretty good. Says there’s something going on up north.”

Cullen bit back the urge to dismiss Jim if only to extend his time alone with Katrina, frown settling into place as he rose to his feet. He offered Katrina a hand up, though she was already on her feet, crouching a few yards away as she gathered their weapons, and brought Cullen his sword. Cullen took it, addressing Jim as he strapped it to his hip. “Did he say what the problem was?”

“I think it’s another scuffle with the Spindle Web clan testing how far the Wolves’ territory used to go,” Jim offered. “He can tell you more, but—what little he said—he thinks we should send some sort of patrol to make it clear that we’re not giving up anything.”

“Does he?” Cullen murmured, making his way out of the grotto, Katrina and Jim walking on either side of him. As he reached the edge, he parted a few branches, allowing the other two passage before stepping out himself.

As they resumed their pace, Jim shrugged. “He’s pretty bitter about it. Apparently he nearly caught a snoufleur. Big fat one.”

“Snow...fl…” Katrina sounded out the word beside them, pausing to hop over a particularly muddy patch of ground. With everything heating up so quickly, mud season was in full swing. It was a miracle they’d found anywhere private to be able to train near the hold that still had solid ground, all things considered.

“Snoufleur,” Jim said before Cullen could. Despite having started off on a rather poor note, Jim and Katrina seemed to have come to an understanding, and they got along well enough. “It’s a beast. Tastes good, though even the biggest ones don’t give as much meet as a stag.”

Daring a glance up at Jim and Cullen before looking back at where she was walking, Katrina gave them a short nod. Her Avvar was coming along beautifully. Of course, she still had that enchanting accent, and Cullen had a feeling she’d be fluent in another month or so. She tried to use as little common as possible, reserving that for the translation of the books.

The books.

There was a sore topic. While Katrina and Morrigan had yet to find anything that would say that the Wolves or Lions had been drawn into the Lowlands’ politics, they had identified almost twenty different Avvar clans that were being manipulated in some way or another.

Cullen had sent word to the nearer clans, warning them to be wary of any Lowlanders who might come through their territories, as well. Someone had told him to be careful who he contacted, that not all the clans were unaware of the Lowlanders’ scheming. Some were even involved. Cullen, however, was sure that it was more important to make the innocent aware than to leave them to the monsters. If they accidentally tipped off an enemy and got them to show their true colors, then he’d deal with them.

Who was it who had told him that…?

Cole.

The name came to mind, though he had trouble placing a face to it. Cullen knew the boy was trustworthy, though. Somehow.

His augur, Galyan, had assured him as much, as well.

Cole was a guest to Galyan and Cassandra, though most of the hold didn’t know of his existence. The boy preferred it that way. It made it easy for him to do his work. To help.

The hold seemed to be doing better. Perhaps it was because of Cole, or perhaps things were just going well on their own.

There had been a bit of an outcry when Cullen had arrived with Morrigan and Katrina, but then, they’d received word of the two coming over a week before they’d arrived, so Cullen had missed the worst of it.

That turned out to have been why Branson had gone to find him. He hadn’t wanted to be the one everyone brought their complaints to.

It was fair enough, though Cassandra and Galyan had been the ones people had gone to instead, and neither had been particularly thrilled. They had handled it quite well though, by pointing out that if anyone wanted to go up against the thane, arena master, _and_ augur, they were welcome to try.

While Morrigan’s brash nature made it clear that she enjoyed being in the Lions’ hold about as much as they enjoyed having her, there had only been one attack against her, and that had been within the first days of her arrival. Cullen had dealt with the matter personally, and since, even though he knew a great many people were displeased, they’d kept their grouses to themselves.

It helped that he’d made sure everyone understood _why_ she was there. She was not there to be a prisoner, she was not his new bride—how that rumor had started was beyond him—and she was not there to spy.

Once the journals were translated, she would be gone.

People asked if that meant Katrina would leave as well. Some seemed hopeful for that, while others didn’t mind her presence, as he’d assumed.

Rosalie was the only one who openly insisted he couldn’t let Katrina leave, ever. Despite the initial language barrier—as Rosalie spoke almost no common—they’d somehow figured out how to communicate and had gotten into more than a bit of trouble, with Rosalie taking Katrina under her wing. Katrina didn’t seem completely sure how to take their new friendship, but plodded along with it regardless.

Further, his sister had somehow even managed to warm Morrigan’s frigid heart, a feat that seemed to even impress Morrigan herself.

As Katrina’s boot slid in a patch of mud that was a bit deeper than she’d anticipated, Cullen darted over and caught her before she could fall. Before she could thank him, he swung her up and over his shoulder, grinning at Jim when he heard her scoff.

“Really?”

“This is faster.” Cullen patted her legs.

She lightly thwacked the back of his head. “Enough of this coddling. Put me down.”

“In a bit.”

With a dramatic sigh, she let her legs drop against him so that she could slowly kick him. “You can’t fool me, you know. I know the truth. You’re too sweet to be a brute.”

Jim coughed at that, though Cullen simply set her down, grin in place. Once she was on the ground, she began running her fingers through her hair, trying to get the knots out so that she could put it back up. “Did Grim say if there were any signs of Orlesians?”

Shaking his head, Jim gave her a reassuring smile. “They haven’t seemed to have figured out where you are, yet.”

Cullen tousled her hair, and she gave up on putting it up for the moment. “Even if they do, we’ll keep you safe.”

She merely grunted at that. He knew she didn’t want anyone getting hurt because of her—especially after what had happened at the Wolves’ hold. He and Morrigan had both pointed out that the hold was likely a target well before she’d been taken there, but he could see the doubt in her eyes whenever the subject came up.

Even if she had been the cause, he’d given her his word that she’d be safe with him, and he’d be damned if he gave up on that just because he might actually have to keep his promise.

He walked her back to his home, stopping at the door as she opened it, pausing briefly to nod to him. “Thane.”

He gave her an imitation of a Lowlander bow. “Katrina.”

With that, she slipped inside to clean up and settle in for another day of reading.

When Cullen and Jim were a few yards down the path, heading to the augur’s hut to see Grim, Jim’s smile slipped. “The Spindle Web thinks the Orlesians may be planning on staking claim to the Wolves’ territories themselves.”

Cullen ran his tongue against the backs of his teeth as his earlier good mood died out. “How much does Grim know?”

“I thought it best you hear it from him.”

…-…

Arching her back, Katrina closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, wondering just how long her vision was going to last at this rate. How did scholars do it?

There were so. Many. Words.

In the last month, she’d easily read more than she had in her entire life.

It was surprisingly exhausting. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been, but Katrina felt like her training with Cullen should have been more tiresome, what with all the physical activity. Yet it wasn’t. Instead, what drained her so completely was this horrid Orlesian mess.

It didn’t help that her dreams tended to vault between missing her family horribly and watching Cullen’s hold fall to the forward march of soldiers, their boots somehow echoing harshly across the grass in her dreams as though their heels struck down on steel instead of dirt.

Sometimes it felt like the more of this web she untangled, the less it could actually help. They had decided that the journals detailing events involving just Orlesian nobles were irrelevant to their search, and set aside any books that didn’t deal with the Avvar.

Unfortunately, many of them still did. This noble’s reach worried Katrina. How could the Avvar actually fight back against someone who had poisoned water reserves to get certain clans to move further into the mountains or had turned clans against one another by framing them for atrocities?

She and Morrigan had found at least three such occurrences, and both were of the mind that the Wolves’ and Lions’ problems fell into a similar category. They hadn’t told Cullen yet because she wanted to have proof first. While Katrina simply didn’t wish to mislead him, Morrigan didn’t doubt that if she came up such a wild theory without evidence, she would be strung up, even if Cullen tried to stop his brethren.

Morrigan rarely left Cullen’s home, instead holing up with the books. If it were up to her, she’d likely spend from sun up ‘til sun down doing nothing but reading.

Fortunately, Cullen’s younger sister, Rosalie, would have none of that. She’d been too little to remember much of the tragedy at the Caverns, and, while she missed her mother, she was more than willing to give Morrigan a chance—especially considering that Morrigan was so ‘well’ versed in Lowlander culture.

Katrina had heard quite a few stories that she’d nearly bitten her tongue off to keep from laughing about. However, Morrigan held her own knowledge in such high esteem. Katrina had once tried to correct her on her explanation of fans. Morrigan had declared they were designed so that one might gossip from across the room about another and be able to cover their mouths so that the person in question could not see.

When Katrina had pointed out that they were really great for keeping cool in warmer climates, Morrigan had sniffed indignantly and expressed that perhaps Katrina’s people had adapted them differently.

Katrina left her to her illusions of grandeur. There were more important things to worry about, after all.

That, and whenever Morrigan got something really wrong, Katrina would just drag Rosalie or whoever to the side and explain how things actually worked. She was sure to give Morrigan’s theories some sway, saying things like, “Perhaps in Orlais, but in the Free Marches…” 

Rosalie had an entire trunk of odds and ends from the Lowlands. She’d made a ritual of coming to Morrigan and Katrina with a single treasure a night, asking for stories about what they were, if her thoughts on them were correct, and what significance they had in Lowland culture.

While the Avvar in general seemed to care little for personal effects, Rosalie’s stash was a beast all its own. Cullen and Branson took to coming by around the time of Rosalie’s visits, as well. While Cullen wore his curiosity openly, with mild amusement at his sister’s childish nature in regards to learning the different odds and ends they’d accumulated through trades and the like, Branson always tried to feign indifference. Even so, Katrina had caught the fascination sparkling in his eyes once or twice.

Cole showed up to those gatherings too, on occasion. He always sat away from the others, listening quietly, curled up and unobtrusive. The first time she’d seen him, he’d seemed genuinely surprised.

Her first encounter with him was still horribly vague, but she remembered him now. There were times where he could disappear, but her memories didn’t fade anymore.

She counted it as a small triumph, though it was a private one. He seemed to do his work best when no one noticed, after all. He mended things, sometimes something as simple as a shirt that left the owner beaming that it needn’t be tossed out, sometimes as complicated as a lover’s quarrel, whispering things into their ears until they finally came around to each other’s views.

Mostly, though, she was certain that he kept people from thinking too harshly of Morrigan.

He kept the peace.

She’d asked him if, because of his investment in Morrigan’s wellbeing, he was one of the Wolves’ Gods, and he’d simply tilted his head and replied with a question of his own. “What makes you think I belong to any clan?”

Katrina liked the thought of creatures like Cole, wandering the world, easing worries and mending so much of what was wrong in the world.

According to the Chantry, Cole would likely be a demon. A monster made flesh that wandered the world, exhibiting inhuman abilities that—despite their uses—damned his very existence.

Katrina was pretty sure that the Chantry was wrong about a great many things at this point. It was a bit frightening to think that the Maker might not be real, especially when it was supposedly a lack of faith that kept him from returning, but more and more, she liked the thought of the Avvar Gods.

Gods that listened, that interacted with their people…

It was a comfort the Chantry denied its followers, instead lading them with guilt for the sins of being born. Everyone had a vice, and it had always seemed to Katrina that spending all of one’s time hating oneself for such things was such a waste of energy.

The Avvar certainly didn’t seem so caught up on finding each other’s faults.

Perhaps, if she could find Amelia, she could bring her back here. This might be a better place for her than the family who had abandoned her when she needed them the most.

Granted, Amelia wasn’t quite as good with languages as Katrina, but she could teach her.

Even as Katrina mused how she would even go about finding her dear sister, Rosalie settled onto the floor beside her. She was holding a stamp of some noble family’s crest. Morrigan had just finished explaining how incredibly important crests were—something that was actually fairly accurate, for once—and Rosalie had come to Katrina to see if there was anything more than could be added.

When Katrina simply nodded to Morrigan and said that she’d pretty much covered it, Rosalie flipped the little stamp around in her hand slowly, thin fingers brushing against it as though it were a most precious gem. When she spoke, however, her intonation did nothing to reveal her enthusiasm. She was a bit of an odd sort, her voice normally a monotone. Cullen claimed that she was very fond of Katrina, and she supposed she did see a glimmer of something in her eyes when Rosalie looked at her. While she couldn’t quite identify it, she figured it wasn’t malicious.

Katrina worked well enough with that.

“So then, what? Do nobles just carry these around in their pockets to show when they need it?”

“Ah, no.” Katrina shook her head. She reached out her hand, and inspected the crest when Rosalie relinquished it to her. It wasn’t one she was familiar with, though that was hardly a surprise. While Cullen and Branson sat to one side of the room at the table, in chairs, Morrigan preferred to sit on the floor near the fire pit when Rosalie drew them away from their reading—regardless of whether it was in use. Katrina and Rosalie typically sprawled out across the floor of the main room in Cullen’s home, like they were now.

Taking the crest, Katrina held it up, rocking a little on her side so that she was closer to Rosalie. “With crests, you get it sewn into clothes, etched into weapons and saddles, to mark belongings and, well, you as belonging to that family. This is for letters.”

“Letters,” Rosalie echoed, brow pinching together, showcasing more emotion than most of her actions did. Of her siblings, she had the darkest hair, a honey brown. It fell straight around her face, somehow always managing to cover one eye. “Like, writing.”

“Yes.” Katrina nodded. “See, you write your letter, fold it up…” She paused, glancing around and getting up to gather a piece of paper. She pretended to write on it and then folded it into thirds. “Once it’s like this, you need to keep it closed, yes?”

Rosalie’s blink seemed at least a little excited. She was hard to read at times.

Katrina could hear Cullen laugh faintly and glanced over at him before resuming her lecture. He was handsome as ever, his expression gentle as he watched her. “You get wax, melt it down so that it’s this globby circle. When it dries, it keeps the envelope closed, and when you get the letter, so long as that wax is intact, you know no one else has read the letter meant for you.”

Another enthusiastic blink.

“While the wax is drying, you press this crest into the wax, and it leaves an impression. That way the person getting the letter knows that the letter is important, family business.”

She handed the crest back to Rosalie. As she looked it over, Rosalie lightly pressed the stamp into her palm. “Does your family have a crest, then?”

“I think it’s getting late,” Cullen interrupted, on his feet and over to them in an instant.

Every time questions wound around to Katrina’s family, he seemed to get a bit agitated or defensive on her behalf. It was sweet, in a way, but more than a little puzzling.

He’d convinced Branson and Morrigan to keep Katrina’s private life just that, but she still couldn’t see that it was something they couldn’t tell Rosalie. She seemed like a good sort, if not a little grim. In fact, the only reason Katrina hadn’t told Rosalie herself was because Cullen seemed so strongly against including her. Perhaps she simply wasn’t good at keeping a secret.

Or perhaps it was shameful in Avvar culture to be kicked out as she had been? Did he fear people would think less of her if they knew her own blood had given up on her?

“Why don’t you want Katrina to talk about her family?” Rosalie asked, refusing to get up even as Cullen offered them both a hand. When Cullen told her that they had work to do in the morning, she rolled her eyes. “You said you didn’t steal her, so she’s a guest. That means she’s still bound to her family, doesn’t it?”

While Katrina still thought it was odd that they would steal their wives, she supposed it wasn’t too much stranger than her culture, where parents basically sold their children off for political gain. Not to mention the Avvar had to have permission to even try to take a bride—or husband, in such cases as Dorian’s.

The part about feeding failures to the hold-beast was a little extreme, but then, the Avvar didn’t do anything halfway, did they?

Katrina had seen Asmund, the Lions’ hold-beast once. She’d been presented to him along with Morrigan. That the creature hadn’t eaten their faces off apparently meant they had its blessing to stay.

She thought they ought to do that sort of thing in the Lowlands more. Sic the family pet on all visitors and banish them from the home if the wee beastie didn’t approve.

Rosalie was arguing with Cullen, though her voice remained flat as ever. Katrina hadn’t really followed the escalation, but she tuned back just in time to hear, “It’s not _my_ fault you’re stupid. I don’t know why you didn’t steal her to begin with. It’s so obvious that you want to claim her.”

Katrina clucked her tongue before Cullen could respond. “Rosie, there’s no need for that. It’s not like he could have stolen me, anyway.”

Dear Maker.

The looks they all gave her.

Morrigan seemed greatly amused, while Branson was genuinely offended. Rosalie…her expression didn’t change much, but Katrina could bet most anything that she was likely offended, too.

Cullen…he just looked hurt, though he quickly tried to hide it with a frown.

Hopping to her feet, Katrina brushed off her leathers as she walked over to where the two siblings stood—Rosalie had gotten up to argue with her brother at some point. “What I mean is, who would he have even stolen me from? I’m a Free Marcher. Orlesians have no claim over me.” She paused before adding with a shrug, “And the Shadow Wolves certainly didn’t.”

Her clarification didn’t seem to help much.

Silence lingered for a few agonizingly long seconds before Cullen finally took in a breath and repeated, “It’s getting late.”

This time, no one argued.


	18. Lost in Translation

“What are we doing?”

Katrina just about jumped out of her skin as the voice came from nowhere, just behind her. Whirling to look over her shoulder, she stared at the hulking figure who was somehow crouched on the same outcrop of rock she’d climbed up to, looking out over the hold.

Eyeing the man, she took in the thick black hair and beard that covered his face—vaguely reminiscent of Thane Blackwall’s—and the crystal blue eyes that peered at her from beneath thick black eyebrows, raised in curiosity. What really caught her attention, however, was the streak of red smeared across his nose.

Maker, was that blood?

The outcrop wasn’t small by any means. Rather, it was big enough for more than a few people to sprawl out—almost like a natural balcony—and considering how easy it had been for her to get up here, the Avvar likely used it often. She should have considered that. Climbing a cliff wasn’t much different than scaling a wall—actually, so long as there wasn’t ice, it was considerably easier.

The Avvar hadn’t yet figured out how well Katrina could climb, however, and she’d rather hoped to keep it a secret for a little while longer. After all, it was nice to be able to slip out of places whenever one wished.

Not that Katrina had wished to slip off on her own here at the Lions’ hold.

Well, she hadn’t wanted to.

Now, though…

Katrina had lain out on the outcrop, with her head just close enough to the edge that she could see out onto the winding streets of the hold, but still duck down low enough to not be seen if anyone looked her way.

Or so she’d thought.

She’d decided early in the morning that she’d needed a break from reading. She was quite certain she would go blind soon, despite Cole having told her multiple times that she would be fine. Even without the threat of diminished eye sight, she had been too restless to be holed up indoors all day. She’d needed to stretch, to walk.

To find that damnable thane who’d been avoiding her.

She’d thought it would be an easy enough task, yet everything had been so hectic in the hold. Or perhaps that’d been because she wasn’t used to being out and about without Cullen at her side. A lot of warriors and hunters and the like had been returning to the hold, and everything had seemed a bit busier than usual. She’d felt a little lost wandering the streets of the hold by herself and had decided that a higher vantage point would help her tremendously.

Realizing that he was still waiting for an answer, she shrugged a little, “I was just…enjoying the view.”

The man sprawled out beside her, peering out over the hold as well, eyes glittering as a grin stretched his face. “It _is_ nice.”

He’d crossed his arms and propped his chin up on them so that he could stare out with ease, and Katrina eyed him, trying to place him. She’d met quite a few members of Cullen’s hold in the last month, though it had hardly been everyone. When she couldn’t place him, she figured he must be one of the many she’d yet to cross paths with.

Perhaps this was his perch.

“I don’t recognize you,” he commented a little offhandedly as he let his gaze wander the hold, eyes seeming to trace the curving paths through the buildings. “Are you here to spy on behalf of the Spindle Webs?”

“I wouldn’t be doing a very good job if I was,” Katrina commented. When he laughed, she shook her head. “No, I’m a guest here. For a while.”

Shouldn’t he have known that? Or perhaps because he hadn’t met her, he hadn’t made the connection.

After all, in the last month, she had been getting into the swing of things in the Avvar culture. She wore the leathers they’d given her well, and didn’t look too out of place—at least she thought so. She’d been outside more, leading to a decent tan and her freckles were definitely more prominent then when she’d first arrived. The sun was bleaching her hair, too, making it look even lighter, if that was possible. All in all, she thought she fit in rather well.

In retrospect, her hair was probably shining like a damned beacon up where she hid, as the sun was out in force this afternoon.

“A guest,” the man mused, still inspecting the hold. “I haven’t been back in a while, and I didn’t know there was a guest here. I suppose that would explain the accent, though.”

“Katrina,” she introduced herself offering a short nod.

He eyed her a minute and then grinned again, nodding back. “Garrett.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Garrett.”

“You as well,” he replied, then paused and laughed. “I don’t normally get such friendly greetings.”

Katrina couldn’t help but smile as well. “Neither do I.”

The two of them settled into a brief silence for a while, both content to watch the world pass by beneath them. Katrina had braided her hair that morning, and as the wind gusted by, she was grateful to have thought to do that, again. After all, nothing like a banner of white gold waving from a hiding spot to out you.

She considered that and glanced at Garrett. Almost immediately he was looking back at her. Was he watching her more than the world below? “Am I really easy to see up here?”

“You are from over…there.” He pointed off a way to the right. There was a lonely path that wandered up the side of the mountain, a bit further from the rest of the hold, toward some sort of cave that Katrina had yet to visit. In fact, Cullen had asked her not to go up there, as there was little she would need that way. She hadn’t considered breaking his one request of her, as she was rather fond of him. “I was walking up and happened a glance to the side. Thought I’d come say hello.” He paused before adding, “You should be careful, though. If you were up here when a raid happened, you’d get stolen without anyone ever knowing.” Even as he finished, he seemed to consider his words and drummed his fingers against the rock beneath them. “Though, I suppose our dear thane here would let you know if there was a prospective one incoming.”

“He’d have to bother to talk to me to do that,” Katrina muttered before she could stop herself. As Garrett’s eyebrows shot up, she rolled her eyes and slumped down against their perch. “He’s mad at me for something ridiculously stupid.”

“Really?” Garrett shifted a little closer to her. “You know, he is very tightly wound. I keep waiting for him to snap.” He laughed at that, though Katrina was too irritated with her memories to find any humor in it. Garrett nudged her. “What happened?”

“I don’t know if I should spread that story,” Katrina replied, mouth twisting to the side. She crossed her arms much like Garrett’s were, resting her head against one crook of an elbow so that she could look at him.

“If it makes it better, I’ll be heading out again fairly soon, so I won’t be around to spread any unscrupulous rumors.”

Despite the protest that all but commanded itself out of Katrina’s mouth, she frowned, her lips a thin line. Cullen _had_ started this by avoiding her. Surely one couldn’t be faulted for voicing disquiet. “You know, what? I’ll tell you. Because I don’t understand what was so bad about what I said, and no one will explain it to me.”

“I’ll happily explain it to you,” he encouraged.

They both shifted back a bit on the outcrop so that they were further from the edge. After all, it wouldn’t do to have anyone see them while they gossiped. “Alright, so. Cullen—”

“He lets you call him Cullen?” Garrett’s eyes glittered like the Fade itself was trying to escape them.

“I…well, he hasn’t corrected me,” Katrina shifted a little. He had requested she call him Thane Magicsbane forever ago, but she’d been calling him Cullen this last month, and he hadn’t objected.

“I’m sorry, go on,” Garrett rolled his wrist, motioning for her to continue.

It felt oddly home-y to be talking like this, off in some quiet place, almost as though she and Amelia or Clarence were whispering about other nobles in some sitting room or garden. “Well, he and his sister were arguing about why he hadn’t stolen me—”

“But you’re a guest.” Garrett interrupted. He tilted his head. “You don’t steal guests.”

“Yes, well…” Katrina fought back a blush, though she was certain it still colored her cheeks. “It’s a long story, but his sister was saying I should have been stolen, not invited as a guest.” She paused to see if Garrett would interrupt again, and when he didn’t, she kept going. “I wasn’t really paying attention, so I don’t even know how they got onto that subject. Something to do with my family and then…” She let out a scoff and shook her head. “I don’t know. But they were arguing, and so I said that he couldn’t have stolen me anyway—”

She cut herself off as she saw the look of pure, unadulterated joy settle over Garrett’s face.

His head dropped down, and his shoulders shook for a moment before he finally managed to rein in his mirth. When he lifted his head, he had smudges of dirt on his forehead. He propped himself up on his elbows, chin cupped in his hands “You told the Thane of the Red Lions that he was incapable of stealing you?”

“What…?” Katrina shook her head. “No. And I explained to them: you can’t steal a Free Marcher from an Orlesian any more than you can steal an Avvar from an Orlesian.” When he still looked amused, she shook her head. “We don’t belong to them. You can’t steal someone from someone who doesn’t own them.”

“I think you are misinterpreting words, Lowlander.” Though she wondered how he knew, it quickly dawned on her that her talk of Orlais and the like, as well as her accent, probably tipped him off. “You sound as though you think we Avvar consider our women property. That is not it. There must be an agreement between clans that women can be taken, yes, but…”

“But what?”

“It is…hard to explain.”

“Well, you could try. No one else has bothered to. They just got offended,” Katrina pouted. “And anyway, parents in the Lowlands basically sell their children for political gain, mostly daughters. It felt similar. The Orlesians cannot benefit from an arranged marriage they have no authority to set up, nor can I be stolen from them as I’ve no real ties to them. The same goes for any Avvar tribe I might stay with. It is a logical comparison, and it makes sense.”

When she was ready to defend her point further, Garrett held up a hand, still grinning like a fool. “Alright. I believe you.”

“You don’t sound it,” Katrina muttered, sitting up a little and glaring toward the ground.

He simply laughed again. “I’m sure Thane Magicsbane understood that it was a cultural gap, as well.”

“You wouldn’t think that the way he’s been acting,” Katrina muttered.

“Oh?”

“I said that two nights ago, and it was like I kicked a wounded puppy. He’s been avoiding me ever since.”

“Two nights ago,” Garrett echoed, oddly curious about the timing.

“And then he tells me I should sleep in my own bed for a while.” She turned her glare to Garrett, oblivious to the way the sparkle in his eyes had doubled. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“You share his bed.”

Katrina was surprised how embarrassed she felt at the comment. She’d sort of gotten the impression that sharing one’s bed wasn’t nearly as big a deal here as it was in the Lowlands. Glancing down, she picked at her nail, mumbling a weak excuse as she wondered if she was breaking some sort of rule, “He’s…warm.”

At that, Garrett collapsed against their perch, cackling. Katrina wondered if perhaps she ought to avoid telling him anything further. He was clearly enjoying this too much, and even if he was about to go off on another hunt or scouting missing or…whatever it was that had him leaving again, when he got back, he seemed a bit too amused with this story to keep it to himself.

She was tempted to leave him there to choke on his laughter, but she wanted to make sure she got his word that he wouldn’t go around gossiping upon his return.

After what felt like an eternity of him most definitely laughing _at_ her, he finally managed to calm himself, his face red as he gasped for breath. When he noticed how unamused Katrina was, he tried to don a serious expression. His lips trembled, however, rebelling against his attempts to keep them in a straight line. “I think you should not worry so. Perhaps something came up. Perhaps he knew he would need to be out of bed early and into bed late, and didn’t want to wake you with his coming and going.”

“Sounds like nugshit to me,” Katrina muttered. “He could have said something, _anything_ , if that was the case.”

“Perhaps he thought you would have more faith in him than that,” Garrett offered.

She felt guilt needle her stomach and eyed him, suspiciously. “I have faith in him.”

“Then why do you fret that this is such a big deal when you haven’t talked to him about it?”

“Because I can’t _find_ him _to_ talk to him,” she protested. “He’s avoiding me. His siblings, too.” 

“Hmm…” Garrett drummed his fingers against the ground before finally pointing at her. “I think I can help you.”

Katrina perked up a little. “You know where I can find Cullen?”

“Ah, no,” Garrett sat back, scratching at his ear before he glanced down and brushed some dirt from his leathers. “I’m not sure where your beloved thane is at the moment…” He was grinning again when he saw her blush at his comments. “You would not be so put out if he didn’t mean a great deal to you.”

Despite the truth of it, Katrina sat up as well and kept her head held high as she let her gaze wander out over the hold again, hoping against hope to see a glimmer of golden curls in the streets below. Of course there was nothing. “Perhaps I merely dislike the slight.”

“A truly Lowlander objection.” Holding his hand out to her, he motioned with his head toward the cliff. “Run away with me.” When she rolled her eyes slowly toward him, unamused, his grin returned again, a wide and welcoming sight. It was rather infectious, and Katrina found it hard not to smile back. “I jest, dear lady. But I was serious about the help. I happen to know Branson’s favorite spot to work on his gear or simply think. I can take you there.”

Maker’s mercy, but it seemed like the first good thing to happen in days.

Since her unfortunate comment…

If she couldn’t find Cullen, perhaps Branson would be able to give her advice on how to get back into his brother’s good graces. Glancing back over the hold, she tilted her head. “Which way?”

“Come.”

Rather than head back toward that cave, Garrett slipped down the cliff face, careful to stay in shadows and behind the various shrubs growing out of the stone. As he started down, Katrina looked out one last time and paused when she saw Cole standing in one of the streets looking up at her. Despite feeling that she certainly could have used his help earlier, he’d been absent the last few days. Even so, there was no reason to mad at him. He was a spirit or God, and there were likely more people who required assistance than she. Katrina offered him a short wave before heading over to the cliff face.

Garrett paused only once to offer Katrina a hand, though he was grinning like a fool again when he saw how well she kept up with him.

Katrina glanced out over the hold a few times to see if anyone had noticed them as they headed down. She had to say she was a bit surprised by the paths Garrett took, never crossing any of the main streets, and sticking mostly behind buildings and the like. It was almost like wandering the alleys back in Starkhaven.

Well, there was a considerably lower chance of being murdered, here, of course.

It wasn’t until they reached the southern wall blocked in the hold from the woods beyond that Katrina gave pause.

Glancing over his shoulder at her, Garrett nodded his head toward the wall. “Branson’s a bit like his brother. He like’s quiet. His little haven is just outside the hold.”

“And we’re not going through the gate because…?”

“The gate,” Garrett began, slowly, “is back west, and I don’t think you want to spend an hour going up to it and then back down here, just to find Branson left in the amount of time it took us to follow more acceptable routes. We climb the wall, and we’ll be there in minutes.”

Katrina considered it a moment before nodding. “Fair enough.”

With that, she strode over to the wall to scale it with her newfound friend.

…-…

Things had been going well.

In the last month, Cullen was desperately careful to avoid the subject of Katrina’s family—it had brought her to tears once, and he couldn’t bear to see her crumble like that again, especially when he could think of no way to fix the damage that had already been done. That fire in her that burned so deep seemed to make all of her emotions equally so, when she dared to let them free. The memory of her crying against him, clinging to him as she confessed that her world had fallen apart… It was something he didn’t want her to have to face again, if he could help it.

Perhaps it was cowardly on his part, but he wanted to stave off that moment for as long as he could.

Aside from that, which had been progressing fairly well—aside from annoying Rosalie—life had seemed better than it had been in a long time, at least for Cullen. He wasn’t as worried about the little details that went into managing the hold.

While he _was_ concerned that Lowlanders might attack, his scouts were thorough and many of their mages conferred with the Gods regularly. The Gods were acting as extra eyes all through the mountains, it seemed.

It made Cullen wonder why they hadn’t better defended the Wolves. Perhaps that attack on Mia’s clan had been what had pressured the Gods into this hyper-vigilance, but something about that seemed off. He’d attempted to address the issue with Morrigan once, but she had made it clear that she had no intention of speaking about her clan with him any further than whatever might be relevant to their current endeavors.

How much of the picture was Cullen missing? Hadn’t someone indicated that the Wolves had somehow brought this upon themselves? Where had he heard that…? Had it just been a passing rumor from someone in the hold?

Not even notions of self-sabotage on Thane Blackwall’s part could keep his spirits down long, though.

At the end of the day, Cullen had Katrina. Every night, she had found a reason to come talk to him as they were heading to bed and then somehow she was always curled up beside him as they drifted to sleep.

There was a pleasantness to it that he couldn’t place.

Did he want her in more primal ways? Of course. Did his dreams turn toward sliding his hands along her bare skin, their clothes carelessly tossed about the room, her body held firmly against his own? Almost every night.

But this, whatever it was that they had, was nice in its own way.

It was like a dream itself, like a breath held just before a fall, the butterflies’ wings in his stomach poised to flutter through the plunge, but not ready to move just yet.

And then reality had finally come crashing down, scattering the whispers of romance with more impending responsibilities.

“Have the Gods found the Lowlanders yet?” Cullen asked as he stared into the ethereal flicker of flames at the center of his augur’s hut. Cassandra sat beside him, waiting as well.

Galyan’s red hair fluttered from an absent wind, his eyes glowing as he watched the flames dance, casting shadows across his slender frame as though he were sitting half in the Fade himself. “They are not being clear.”

Two days ago, Grim had returned to the hold from a hunt early, with a rather dire report. It was a small consolation that Jim had gotten the message confused and that the Lowlanders themselves were not laying claim to the Wolves’ territory.

What was happening was still far from ideal, however.

Ideal…

That would be the Lowlanders forgetting about Katrina altogether.

Even without the prospect of Lowlander neighbors, Grim’s report had been a miserable one. While he’d been hunting, up near their border with the Wolves’ former territory—part of the reason the hunters were going so far was to keep an eye on their borders, and to make sure any new clan moving in would know where their lands stopped—he’d stumbled across a small skirmish.

The White Feather Hawks had been exploring the area, inspecting the resources that had been left behind by the Wolves, to see if it was worth staking claim to the area. They’d been resting midday—as the days grew hotter, the Avvar found themselves slowing down while the sun was at its highest—when suddenly the Lowlanders had been upon them.

There had been two, according to Grim.

Only two.

And yet, they’d fought with a ferocity that Grim was not looking forward to seeing again. They’d worn cloth around their faces, keeping their features mostly hidden, but Grim was certain that one had been a woman and the other an elf. The elf had been the truly dangerous one with his daggers, while the woman had shown clear signs of fighting being a new skill to her.

Grim said that the White Feathers had been ashamed to admit that they might have lost that fight, two on two as it had been. One of them had been knocked unconscious, and the other, a man Grim referred to only as Duncan, had said that, upon incapacitating his fellow scout, the Lowlanders had demanded—in very strange accents—that he lead them to wherever a ‘Lady Trevelyan’ was being held hostage if he wanted to live. They had threatened that the full force of the Lowlands would bear down upon them if he failed to acquiesce their demands. They’d used a lot of larger words in common, most of which meant nothing to Duncan, but he’d understood common well enough to know the threat.

Duncan had been attempting to figure out what they were talking about when the Red Lions had arrived. The Lowlanders had not been completely unreasonable, and when he’d explained that he was not native to the area in question, they had conversed with one another in a foreign tongue he hadn’t recognized.

Grim and his small hunting party had joined in the fray upon seeing a fellow Avvar cornered by Lowlanders and turned the odds in the Avvar’s favor. Their numbers had forced the Lowlanders to retreat, though Grim was sorry to inform Cullen that they hadn’t been able to capture or kill either.

Rosalie had been sent to investigate the Lowlanders, as she was one of the best trackers their hold had—she was also incredibly good at not being seen, and falling back. The only person she didn’t seem to know when to back down against was Cullen.

What it meant—had to mean—however, was that the Lowlanders had figured out that Katrina was not with the Wolves.

Grim had left his hunting party to finish the hunt while heading home to warn Cullen, and Duncan had gathered his fellow White Feather and headed back to speak with their thane.

Thane Everburning had apparently been a _lot_ closer to the Wolves’ territory—and the Lions’—than they’d expected, for word had reached Cullen that he was en route not even an hour after hearing Grim’s report. The White Feathers must have been in dire need of a new home, if they were already prowling so close. Likely it was thanks to their current thane and his…unorthodox ways of dealing with damned near everything.

Cullen had spent the rest of the discussing increased patrols throughout their lands, particularly closer to the hold. Several of the further groups he’d sent were being called back in case the hold did have to endure some sort of onslaught, as well.

He’d figured that he would speak with Katrina and Morrigan about the progress of the translations that evening after talking to Grim, but…

He scowled at the fires in front of him, the scene from two nights ago bubbling back up into his mind.

_It’s not like he could have stolen me anyway._

“Thane, you needn’t sit here and wait for the Gods to speak. I’m sure you have more pressing matters to tend to,” Galyan offered, frowning slightly as the light died down in his eyes, making him look like a normal man. He glanced toward Cassandra and then back to Cullen. “At the moment, I’d include regular sleep in such a category, if you were wondering.”

“It’s midday,” Cullen murmured, running a hand down his face. He let it stop just below his eyes, covering the lower half of his face. Despite his protests, sleep did sound heavenly. He hadn’t gotten much in the last two days, especially with Thane Everburning arriving yesterday morning in the early hours and staying until this morning.

At least the man was gone, now.

Thane Garrett Ar Leandra O White Feather Hold Everburning and Cullen had never gotten along very well—well, Garrett claimed a certain fondness for Cullen, though it was not reciprocated. They’d had their tiffs, but had still managed to work together on one or two occasions that had required it. Even so, Cullen preferred there to be a great distance between the two of them.

He’d almost rather have the Wolves come back than have the White Feathers move in.

And least Garrett hadn’t met Katrina.

If the Gods would be so kind, their paths would never cross.

Cullen had two reasons for such wishes, though one was fairly petty.

Garrett was bound to jump onto the ‘Look who fancies Lowlanders now’ train of thought, and he’d likely be happy to drag Katrina into it. Cullen didn’t want that happening until he knew where he and she actually stood.

He didn’t want to demand Katrina make a choice about whether she would stay with the Lions or not, but it was a growing ache in his chest every time she somehow avoided giving him an answer and every day that she avoided the subject completely. He hadn’t brought it up in the last two weeks, afraid that if he pushed the matter too much, he would have an answer he didn’t want.

He’d been trying not to worry about that, trying to just enjoy the way life had gotten so much more…comfortable since her arrival. People had commented on it to him. Galyan had seemed particularly pleased with the turn of events. “She’s good for you,” he’d said a few days prior. “Everyone can see it. If the Lowlander mess can be dealt with swiftly, I don’t think the hold would protest her continued presence.”

It seemed everyone was fine with her staying, with the only hiccup being that she didn’t seem to want to. That had to be why she never answered him, hadn’t it? But why wouldn’t she? They got along well, found each other’s company enjoyable, she’d said herself that she had no home to return to. So why couldn’t she say just she would stay?

_It’s not like he could have stolen me anyway._

That was there, nagging at the back of his mind.

It was a mess. A tangled, wretched mess that had rubbed the shine off of whatever it was that they had. It had marred the serenity of that blissful dream.

Well, that and the fact that the Lowlanders were already searching for her closer to the hold than they’d hoped.

And that Thane Everburning had come by and was soon to be a neighbor.

Cullen had meant to tell her about all the nonsense unfurling the night that he’d learned of it. After their evening gathering, he had planned let her know about the need for her to stay in for a few days, and that Rosalie would be gone for a while.

They’d gathered to listen to tales of the Lowlands, via one of Rosalie’s trinkets, and the evening had been going well, when things had turned toward Katrina’s family, and it had all spiraled down from there.

Rosalie had asked him what it was about Katrina’s family that bothered him so much. She’d pointed out that Katrina’s family was hardly a threat, anyway, and that if they wanted, they could keep Katrina without her family’s permission, as they likely lived so far away that they wouldn’t be able to start a blood feud with the clan.

Luckily, Katrina had missed most of that, having drifted off in her own thoughts.

Then, as if the Gods were intent to remind him that life was not always pleasant, when she _had_ caught up with the conversation, Katrina made that comment about him not being able to steal her.

Cole had assured him that she hadn’t meant anything by it—he was fairly certain she’d been trying to help—but it had just…

The sentence had repeated itself in his head in every dream he’d had thus far—despite getting little sleep, he somehow managed to be haunted by _that_ —each one manifesting a reason for her to say it in a different manner.

Had he not proved himself strong enough time and time again?

Hakkon’s biting rage, he _had_ stolen her that night, when she’d stood against him. Surely she couldn’t argue that she could have actually gotten away if she’d wanted to.

She’d made that attempt to ease her words, claiming freedom from the Orlesians and the Wolves, but it felt like a weak effort to undo the damage she’d caused…and she hadn’t bothered to say that until after she’d looked at him. He must have been wearing his wounded pride despite his attempts to hide it.

She was a Lowlander, and he’d taken her from the Lowlands. No one—not a single soul—could argue that. Jim might have _caught_ her first, but Cullen had _kept_ her. Even if Jim had tried to claim a right to her, it wouldn’t have ended with a marriage. Katrina would have fought his claim ‘til her dying breath. She was not one to be contained with simple declarations.

With Cullen, though…

He hadn’t tried to force anything on her, but to work with her. With good reason, too.

There was nothing that could have conquered those flames, that steel will inside of her. Docile as she could be when content, he still felt certain that she was a force all her own. One to be reckoned with.

Was that why she’d said what she had?

Did he not burn as brightly in her eyes as she did in his?

It had been the perfect ending to a miserable day that had started out so well. If he could have just stayed in that grotto, sparring with her and laying in the grass, living solely in the present…

He’d suggested they sleep in their own beds because of Thane Everburning’s imminent arrival, though he hadn’t specified why. He’d figured he’d tell her in the morning, after he’d had a night to nurse his wounded pride.

Cullen had meant to explain to her that she needed to avoid Thane Everburning, mostly because of the second reason. The valid one that wouldn’t leave people regarding him with disapproval.

Cullen hadn’t known whether Thane Everburning’s clan might be one of the ones Cole had warned him about.

One of the clans that knew of and worked _with_ the Orlesians.

Cole had come to him and assured him he’d be able to tell his fellow thane’s intentions once he was there.

Of course he’d had arrived early. Cullen had swung by Katrina’s room to let her know their morning practice had been canceled, and then spent hours discussing the Wolves’ territory and working out borders and terms for being neighbors, as Thane Everburning was quite insistent on the matter. A burned out hold was nothing to deter him.

Cullen hadn’t seen a point in dragging things on so long.

Cole had shown up long enough to give Cullen a nod of approval for sharing about the goings on, and so he had explained why the territory might not be ideal. He’d still kept Katrina out of it, though. If the White Feathers didn’t know of Katrina’s location, they wouldn’t be able to give it away if they were attacked.

Despite warnings and talk of Lowlander antics, the White Feathers would not be dissuaded from taking up residence just north of the Lions.

After staying the night, Thane Everburning and his small entourage had headed off a little before noon.

Cullen had been relieved to see them go. He’d managed to house Thane Everburning and his people nearer the throne room in his hold. Unlike Thane Blackwall’s hold, Cullen’s home was not attached to his throne area, though there was a building near it—about as far from the throne as his home—for guests. He’d kept Katrina and Morrigan with him rather than setting them up there for security reasons—and to have an excuse to keep Katrina closer—and he’d been grateful for that when he’d found the need to house more guests.

With his fellow thane in the hold, he’d opted not to sleep the night before. He’d stayed vigilant, partially keeping up with reports of scouts and hunters returning to the hold, partially making sure that Thane Everburning didn’t decide to go exploring the hold on his own.

It occurred to him at Galyan’s suggestion that he get some sleep that he must be wearing his exhaustion rather clearly at this point. Coupled with last night, the night before, after he and Katrina’s… misunderstanding, he’d barely slept at all due to preparing the hold for the incoming thane.

 Still, midday was no time for sleeping. He’d crash tonight and sleep better than he had in…

Well, he’d been sleeping rather well with Katrina next to him.

He paused as it suddenly occurred to him that despite his intents, he couldn’t remember explaining to her about the visiting thane or Rosalie’s departure. It was with slowly growing unrest that Cullen realized he hadn’t.

He hadn’t told her anything.

Korth’s teeth. How could he have…?

Forget the encroaching dangers, _he_ was ruining things faster than they could.

Abruptly standing from his place beside the fire, Cullen nodded to Galyan and then to Cassandra.

“Going to listen to me, then?” Galyan teased as Cullen turned to go.

“I’m going to see how the translations are coming along,” Cullen replied, ignoring the knowing smirks that stretched at both his augur’s and arena master’s lips.

With the Gods’ graces, Katrina wouldn’t be too upset with him. After all, it wasn’t like he’d been purposefully avoiding her.

Tired as he was, Cullen had headed back to his home. He must have had a worn aura about him, for no one stopped him on the way, and in no time he was passing into his home and down the hall, to the room where Katrina and Morrigan would be reading at this time of day. As he’d stepped into the room, he’d frowned when he saw Morrigan was by herself. “Where is Katrina?”

“I assumed you’d let your training run long,” Morrigan muttered, flipping a page in the book she was reading.

At that, Cullen frowned. “We didn’t practice today.”

Morrigan arched her eyebrows, head tilting to the side. “Then I believe you’ve lost your Lowlander. She wasn’t in her room.” Even as Cullen stood there, trying to process what that actually meant—obviously she was still in the hold, somewhere—Morrigan rolled her gaze up toward him. “She was quite distraught yesterday, as well. Seemed to think you were angry with her. When none of you showed up last night for your daily lesson on the Lowlands, it all but confirmed it. I could hear her pacing in her room half the night.”

“Why would she have—” Cullen’s eyes widened as he realized he’d never actually gotten around to telling her that Rosalie would be gone, either. Garrett’s early arrival had distracted him and…

It was a poor excuse.

Hurrying out of his home, he let his gaze sweep the hold, wondering where he might find Katrina. Surely she hadn’t gotten far. Perhaps, not knowing that there would be outsiders in the hold, she’d decided to explore today? He’d taken her around the hold a few times, though most of it was still fairly foreign to her.

Even as he remembered that she’d mentioned she liked their training grounds, enjoying the energy in the air as the Avvar trained, attempting to appease the Gods so that they might be granted a boone in battle, Cole was suddenly there, standing in front of him.

Relaxing a little, Cullen nodded toward the God. “Have you seen Katrina?”

“She’s gone.”

“What?”

“Low guard, pretty smile. All alone or all abandoned? A flickering temper with fear fueling it. It will be easy to make a point.”

Cullen felt like his nerves were fraying at the edges. “I don’t know what that means!”

“Thane Everburning decided to steal her.”


	19. Accumulated Miscommunications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to creepypasta-queen- from tumblr for beta reading and helping me catch typos and whatnot!
> 
> And thank you to all who read!

Katrina stood a few yards shy of the hold’s southern wall, beside a tawny elf as she inspected a rather peculiar object that she’d tripped over a few moments prior, head tilted to the side. When she spoke, it was in tevene. It was refreshing to fall back on one of the other languages she knew.

“ _What is this though_?”

“ _They call them ‘_ brindleseeds’ _. They’re much like_ _pinecones_ ,” the elf offered, reaching out and lightly tapping the object Katrina was inspecting. He had strange tattoos that ran the length of his entire body, the color a match to his stark white hair. “ _They have these in Ferelden and southern Orlais_.”

“ _Well, I’ve seen pinecones. These are so much pointier and angrier… We don’t have them in Starkhaven_ ,” Katrina offered, lightly holding the oddity by a single, wickedly curved spoke-like protrusion. Most of the curls turned inward, making it unlikely for someone to accidentally stab themselves, but the thought of one breaking off and getting imbedded in a foot was nightmarish. “ _Everything down south seems so much more dangerous._ ”

“ _Mmmm_ ,” the elf, Fenris, nodded. “ _Not as bad as Tevinter, in my opinion_.”

“ _Perhaps it’s the far north and far south trying to outdo each other?_ ” Katrina jested.

Even as Fenris grinned at that and started to say something that seemed like it would have confirmed her joke, Garrett’s voice interrupted their conversation.

“I’m glad that the two of you are from the same part of the Lowlands, really—”

“We’re not,” Fenris and Katrina replied in unison.

“—but do you remember when I told you to go get help about fifteen minutes ago?”

Both of them turned their gazes up to the tree where Garrett was seated on the thick, middle branches. While Katrina was a bit concerned, Fenris bore a look of utter apathy at the Avvar’s predicament. As Garrett returned their stares, exasperation clear on his face, one of his boots slipped on the branch he was on and dangled down for a second.

In response, a low rumbling growl sounded, and a mountain lion lunged up, claws just narrowly missing Garrett’s foot.

Katrina and Fenris let their gazes wander down to the Red Lions’ hold-beast, who sat at the foot of the tree, gaze locked on Garrett. They tilted their heads in unison. “I don’t think Asmund likes you much.”

It had been the damnedest thing, truly. Garrett and Katrina had been on their way to go find Branson so that she could demand answers as to why Cullen had to avoid her. They’d just scaled the wall, when they’d turned and found a mountain lion directly in front of where they’d climbed over, as though the beast had known they would be leaving ahead of time.

Katrina had recognized the painted symbols on the creature’s fur and had frozen for a moment, remembering the multiple warnings she’d received that hold-beasts were not pets. Even as she’d stilled, eyeing the creature and waiting for it to pounce and drag one of them off into the woods for a snack—to think, all this time she’d worried about bears—Garrett had landed beside her, turned, and said a single word.

“Shit.”

The lion, Asmund, had sat where he was, watching the two of them, tail curled around his feet. They had stood there, waiting, breaths held, wondering what would happen, if the beast would be friendly. When it seemed content to stay where it was, Garrett had taken a slow step to the side, and Asmund had been on his feet, growling.

As Garrett stilled, Asmund sat back down, tail twitching, honey gaze quite reminiscent of Cullen’s glued to the Avvar man. He seemed quite disinterested in Katrina.

And then Fenris had shown up. He’d walked out of the woods, commenting something that sounded a lot like a surprise in lack of defense to the south of the hold, only to stop as he saw the hold-beast. His green eyes had widened as he’d taken in the scene: Garrett and Katrina still with their backs to the wall, Asmund ready to eat them if they moved.

Then, rather abruptly, his face had deadpanned, and he’d said sharply, to Garrett, “I hope it eats you.”

That had given the lion pause to glance over its shoulder, and Garrett had tried to make a run for it.

Asmund had let him have a bit of a head start before beginning its pursuit.

Fenris had chased the beast, and Katrina had stood there by the hold’s wall, not sure what to do. Was this a sign she should just go back? Why was Asmund mad at Garrett? Had he not offered tribute to the hold-beast or something?

Treatment of the lion was still one of the many Avvar customs that remained foreign to her.

However, even as she’d considered climbing the wall for help, she’d remembered that Branson was supposed to be out here somewhere. Perhaps Garrett was running to him.

Not really knowing how she’d go about getting help for this situation anyway, Katrina had tentatively followed after the rest of them, still not sure what was going on. Aside from everything with the hold-beast, she was more than a little surprised to see an elf all the way out here, though the tone of his muscles, size of the sword strapped to his back, and way that he moved so easily through the woods implied that he was well acquainted with this terrain.

He obviously survived just fine out here.

And he did seem to know Garrett.

When she’d caught up, Fenris had been torn between unsheathing that wicked looking sword or just letting things play out. Garrett had been in the tree, and Asmund had been pacing slowly at its base.

When it had become clear that Asmund wasn’t going to kill Garrett unless he tried to come down, tensions had eased a little.

Introductions had even been made. Fenris was Garrett’s husband of five years. It struck Katrina as odd that Cullen had never mentioned another Lowlander living in his hold, though. He’d always acted like she was the first one that he’d ever met.

While it was still a little awkward and more than a little bizarre to be standing there talking whilst a wild-yet-not-quite-wild animal cornered someone, Katrina had taken lead from her fellow Lowlander, figuring that if anyone would have reason to be concerned, it would be the man in danger’s husband.

Fenris seemed merely agitated—and with Garrett, not Asmund—and so Katrina couldn’t find herself to be too worried.

She did, however, glance up at Garrett. “You mentioned Branson was nearby? Should we get him?”

“Yes! Thank you!” Garrett seemed relieved to finally have one of their attention. “If you go around the damned mangy cat and head…that way,” he twisted a little where he was, pointing off into the woods, “he should be there, fletching his arrows.”

“He already headed back to the hold,” Fenris called up. When Garrett scowled, Fenris shrugged. “Why do you think I came to check on you?”

Katrina felt a bubble of disappointment press against her insides. So this whole thing was for nothing. Garrett was trapped in a tree for no reason.

Garrett seemed to share in her train of thought, drumming his fingers against his knees and then swearing quietly when Asmund growled, as though to remind him he was a prisoner.

“Would one or both of you just go get help?” Garrett hissed.

“And what exactly would you have me tell the Lions?” Fenris crossed his arms, scoffing at the notion. “Sorry to bother you, but my _husband_ decided to steal a wife and got caught? Care to call off your hold-beast?”

Blinking, Katrina turned toward Fenris again, a hand on her hip, the other still holding the brindleseed, head cocked. “I’m sorry?” When Fenris arched an eyebrow, Katrina shook her head. “You thought…? Oh, no. Garrett was helping me find Branson.”

“Is that what he told you to get you out of the hold?” Fenris replied, one of his ears twitching. When Katrina didn’t respond with some sort of ‘aha’ moment, Fenris pointed up toward his partner. “We’re Hawks, not Lions.”

Katrina stared at him a moment longer, the gears in her head moving a bit slower than usual. When things finally clicked into place, she frowned. “Well, he couldn’t have stolen me anyway. I’m not a Lion, either.”

Despite his situation, Garrett let out a sharp laugh.

Both Lowlanders turned to glare up at Garrett, and Fenris abruptly walked back to a nearby tree and leaned against it, picking up another brindleseed to inspect. “I think I’ll wait for a patrol to get here.”

Garrett attempted to appeal to Fenris’ and then Katrina’s sense of compassion, but Katrina turned her back on him—after giving Asmund a final glance to see that the lion was still quite content to sit on the ground, guarding—and then walked over to Fenris, a glimmer of hope stirring in her as she followed her fellow Lowlander. When she spoke, it was in tevene again. “ _Do you understand the whole ‘stealing a bride’ thing?_ ”

Fenris blinked, looking up at her somewhat surprised. “ _No one’s explained it to you?_ ”

“ _They did, but…then they’re weird about it._ ” She motioned back toward Garrett. “ _I mean, I’m not a Lion, so how can I be stolen from the Lions’ hold?_ ”

“ _Honestly, I don’t completely understand it myself_ ,” Fenris admitted, leveling a stern look at Garrett as he spoke, as though to make the Avvar think they were talking about him. “ _It has to do with proving oneself capable of claiming a family, some rite of passage. There’s not really anything I can equate it to in the Lowlands._ ”

“ _But…it is stealing a person_.”

Fenris made a face, thinking. “ _It is…complicated. Calling it stealing does imply some sort of ownership, but… A man goes to another clan to ask permission. Women in the clan may request he steal her. A man may be denied the right to go after others, such as a skald or thane. Those interested are made aware of who is available and who is not. The permission part is more like a matchmaking endeavor from what I’ve seen_.”

“ _Doesn’t sound much like theft at all_ ,” Katrina muttered.

“ _No, it really doesn’t_.” Fenris shrugged. “ _I think it was labeled stealing a long, long time ago, through some misinterpretation of some sort when translating customs into another language_.”

Katrina paced back and forth slowly, considering what he was saying. “ _So…but they still have to sneak the person out, don’t they?_ ”

“ _Ah, yes. At the same time, though, it’s still not…stealing like you and I would think of it_.” Fenris crossed his arms and then lifted one, cracking his knuckles slowly with his thumb as he watched Asmund. The lion was pacing a little at the base of the tree again. “ _The woman can assist in being taken, to help increase the chances of her husband’s success. There are a great many nuances that go with it that I still don’t quite fathom. The point is that they can sneak away together. It’s more like eloping, in my opinion_.”

“ _I told someone they couldn’t have stolen me…_ ” When Fenris smirked, she glanced toward Garrett. “ _Aside from him, I mean. I’d explained all this_ to _him, actually_.”

“ _Ah. I’m guessing it hit a nerve?_ ” Fenris asked. When she nodded, his lips twisted into a frown. “ _Like I said, it’s some sort of rite of passage. To be told that is sort of like telling a noble they haven’t the money to support their family. Like telling a magister he’s not powerful enough to earn the archon’s attention_.” He spat after the second comparison. “ _It might not mean much to us, but it’s quite insulting to them_.”

Katrina glanced toward the ground. “ _Because saying that is like saying they’re a failure_.”

“ _It is_.”

The look on Cullen’s face in response to her words bubbled back up into her mind. It had been bothering her the last two days, the way he’d seemed so stricken at her words, even as she tried to clarify them. For a moment, she felt lost. Then, angry. “ _But they still require some sort of permission, do they not? Permission cannot be received to steal me or take me or whatever it is. That was all that I meant._ ”

With a dry laugh, Fenris nodded. “ _Did you tell them that?_ ”

“ _Yes!_ ”

“ _Perhaps you just need to try again. Perhaps explain it so they can see it from your view?_ ” Fenris mused. “ _The thing with cultural gaps is that they go both ways, after all. Garrett and I had more than a few misunderstandings early on. We still do, from time to time_.”

When Katrina looked back toward the Avvar in question, she saw that he was glaring at them pointedly, looking somewhat akin to a cat that had been dunked in water. She had to bite back a laugh. Glancing back at Fenris, she motioned back toward the hold. “ _I really don’t think he was trying to take me as a wife. After all, I’d already ranted to him about how I can’t be stolen from any Avvar holds, as I’m not Avvar.”_

“ _I doubt it, too. Whatever he_ was _trying to do, though, was stupid, at best_.” Fenris shook his head. “ _We’re moving our clan into the Shadow Wolves’ old territory, and I’d rather we not start things off with poor relations with the Lions_.”

“ _Couldn’t you just have Garrett explain whatever he was doing to both thanes and have them work it out?_ ” Katrina tilted her head.

“ _Garrett…didn’t tell you?_ ” The elf rolled his eyes. “ _Of course he didn’t_.”

Katrina’s gaze snapped up toward Garrett as another thought struck her, one that had been delayed thanks to the proposition of explanations she’d been so craving the last few days.

These men weren’t Lions.

Granted, Fenris had made the clarification already, but it hadn’t really sunk in until now, as he mentioned that there might be trouble between the two clans.

Garrett wasn’t a Lion.

He wasn’t one of Cullen’s people, and yet he’d been in their hold, idly lying beside her, taking in the entire layout of the place.

Her eyes widened, and she abruptly took her brindleseed and threw it at him. It glanced off his shoulder before spinning off into the woods. As he cried out, she cursed at him. “You bastard! You were scouting the fucking hold!”

Asmund growled.

Garrett climbed a branch higher and then held his hands out. “Look, it’s not…” Abruptly, he scowled down at them. “You know what? I brought you out here to _help_ you, and you’re not even going to return the favor. I don’t have to explain anything to you.”

“Perhaps not,” Cullen’s voice interrupted Katrina as she started to tell him he’d better, “but you do owe _me_ one.”

At the sound of the voice, all of them, Asmund included, turned to see Cullen swinging off of Gunvor—she hadn’t even heard the horses coming—and stepping through the brush, a most dour expression in place.

Katrina had to say that in that moment, he looked something akin to a legend of some sort, one she’d dearly like to hear the tale of. His hair glittered as he passed through the sun shafts piercing the canopy overhead, and the light shone off his muscles as well, accenting an underlying fluidity that whispered power. His leathers were lighter, with the weather warming up as it was, and a light sweat made them cling to his legs. The warmth in his amber eyes was gone, replaced with a harsh coldness, though it did ease for the briefest of instants when he saw her. As soon as he was looking at Garrett, though, any semblance of gentleness fled him.

Branson and Cole followed shortly behind him. While the latter seemed quite angry as well, Cole simply waved when he saw Katrina, a simple smile on his lips.

She couldn’t help but wave back.

…-…

Cullen had to say, he hadn’t been sure what he’d expected to find when he caught up to Thane Everburning and Katrina, but it hadn’t been for them to be…like this. He’d expected maybe an unconscious Katrina slung over a shoulder or perhaps her attempting to fight off his fellow thane as he stole her away.

However, to find Thane Everburning trapped in a tree by Asmund as Katrina threw brindleseeds at him…

He would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it, were his heart not still hammering against his ribs.

“Thane Magicsbane,” an elf—Fenris, if memory served—standing near Katrina said, stooped into a quick bow before motioning toward Asmund. “I don’t suppose you could call off your hold-beast? I realize Garrett has no doubt played the fool, but I assure you we were about to leave.”

“With Katrina?” Cullen asked, head cocking sharply, brow raised.

Fenris glanced at Katrina and sighed. “We had no intent of leaving the hold with any of your people or guests.”

“And yet, we do not stand _in_ my hold having this conversation.” Cullen crossed his arms.

Garrett scoffed from up in the branches he’d taken shelter in. When Cullen looked back up at him, he was pointing toward the hold wall, just barely visible between the trees. “It’s right there!”

“There is not here.”

“Would you at least let me defend my actions from the ground?” Thane Everburning called down, exasperated.

“Why exactly are you up there to begin with?” When the bearded fool pointed toward Asmund, Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before replying. “You realize mountain lions can climb trees, yes?”

“Of course I know they can climb!” Thane Everburning retorted. He started toward the next lowest branch and jerked back up as Asmund growled and lifted up on his hind legs. He pointed accusingly down at the hold-beast. “Yours doesn’t want me coming _down_.”

“Then you’d best stay up there until he changes his mind.” Cullen couldn’t help the grin that tugged on his lips for a split second. He managed to hide it fairly quickly. His fellow thane had a way of assuming things were forgiven if he caught someone enjoying the absurd situations he somehow always managed to stumble into.

Fenris took a careful step forward. Cullen noted offhandedly that the elf didn’t seem concerned for the hold-beast turning on him, but rather the newcomers doing so. “Is there some offering we can make to expedite forgiveness? I would rather not stand here a week waiting on your hold-beast to grow weary of whatever this game is.”

“Explain why you decided to steal Katrina,” Cullen said, directing his gaze back toward Thane Everburning. Even as the man sulked on his roost overhead, Cullen turned toward Katrina, stepping over to her and inspecting her to make certain that she wasn’t harmed. When he saw she was fine—not even a scrape that he could see—he tilted his head. “How did he get you out of the hold?”

Katrina fidgeted, expression hard to read. At length, she shrugged. “He said he knew a place where Branson liked to think. That he’d take me there so I could talk to him.”

Brow drawing together, Cullen glanced toward Branson who simply shrugged back. “Why would you be looking for Branson?”

“Because you were all avoiding me!” Katrina snapped abruptly, crossing her arms with a bit of extra force and glaring up at him, a familiar flicker in her eyes.

Cullen shook his head. “No one was avoiding you—”

“So all of you just disappearing at the same time was a coincidence?” She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not stupid, Thane Magicsbane.”

“I thought he let you call him Cullen,” Thane Everburning called down.

Cullen stiffened, turning slowly to stare up at the man, eyes narrowed. His head was starting to hurt, and he really hadn’t gotten enough sleep for this nonsense. Even as he tried to keep any weariness from his stance, it occurred to him that Thane Everburning’s comment meant the two of them had been talking at least for a while.

Katrina had moved away from the rest of them upon his fellow thane’s comments, though when she came back, she had several brindleseeds in her arms. She chucked one at him as she yelled back, “You stay out of this!”

As Thane Everburning cackled despite his unfortunate situation, Cullen stepped over to Katrina and caught her arm before she could throw another one. “Do you not remember what I warned you about fighting thanes?”

Katrina stilled, staring up at him, eyes wide. Then that angry flicker burst to life in her eyes as she snapped her attention back toward Thane Everburning. “You’re a fucking thane?”

More laughter.

Dropping most of the brindleseeds, Katrina chucked the last one she had with her free arm, just narrowly missing Thane Everburning as he slumped down against his tree branch, laughing maniacally against the bark.

Katrina switched into a language Cullen wasn’t familiar with as she kept cursing, looking damn near ready to climb the tree herself. When she stooped to pick up another seed to throw, Cullen caught her around the waist and dragged her back a few steps so that they were out of her reach. “Katrina.”

She kept swearing.

“Katrina!”

Her gaze snapped toward him. At first there was just anger. Then, slowly, it shifted to something else…

Hurt.

Cullen loosened his hold on her instantly, despite being quite sure that he hadn’t gripped her too tightly. Even as he glanced down to make sure a broken piece of one of those damned seeds hadn’t caught in her foot or something of the like, she stood a bit taller, shifting away from him.

Katrina let her gaze wander, crossing her arms again. “I should get back to translating.”

As she moved to leave the group, Cullen reached out and caught her arm, gently. “You can ride back with me in just a moment.” When she didn’t bother to respond, he tugged her closer, stepping in front of her. “I wasn’t avoiding you.” He leaned his head down to peer at her, searching her face. When she finally dared to glance up and meet his gaze, he nodded his head back toward the tree. “I was dealing with him. I don’t know if you can tell, but things have a way of going awry rather quickly when he’s around.” As silence settled over them, he finally added, “If anyone gets to throw things at him, it’s me.”

“He was spying on the hold,” Katrina murmured, looking down. “I didn’t know he wasn’t a Lion, or I would have done something about it.”

“We Avvar have a tendency to do that to each other,” Cullen replied, giving her a faint smile, hoping to coax one from her in return. When it didn’t work, he sighed. “Did he see much?”

“You can see everything from that ledge. I knew he was inspecting the roads, but I just thought he was taking in his home.” Katrina cursed herself softly. “He was up near that cave, too.”

Cullen paused. There were but two caves in the hold, the one that housed the throne room, and the one that they used for their armory and stocks. Spies sneaking into the hold and getting that far had happened before, but most raiders found it nearly impossible to get anything out of the hold, especially when the Lions rallied back to block them.

It was one of the reasons that Cullen hadn’t been overly worried about sending so many of his people out to watch for Lowlanders. They knew how to deal with Avvar raids. It was Lowlands ones that would be foreign to them.

“If his people try to raid us, we’ll raid them back. It is not that grave a matter,” Cullen replied, still watching her. He hesitated. “I was more concerned for your safety. Cole said he was going to steal you.”

At that, her anger bubbled back up. “He can’t steal me, Cullen!” She jerked back a step, throwing her hands up defensively, fingers splayed as her voice rose. “I am a fucking Free Marcher! We cannot be stolen! We did not spend age after age resisting rule from outside forces, resisting falling to Blights, and the qunari, and magic, and all manner of madness just so that we could have Orlesian bastards or woodlands heroes claim ownership of us! I am my own person, and the only way anyone is _stealing_ me is if they steal me from _me_! So good luck with _that_.”

She crossed her arms again with extra vigor, shoulders tense, a glare strong enough to wither budding leaves directed away from anything in particular.

Cullen stood before her for a moment, unsure what to say to that, unsure what to do. Asmund let out a soft growl, and Cullen turned to see if the beast was still protesting any attempts for Thane Everburning to slip back to the earth. As he moved, however, he felt thin fingers slide against his palm and lace themselves with his. He looked back to see Katrina step up closer to him.

“I don’t think you’re a failure. I just…can’t be stolen.”

Her voice had been softer, worried. He lifted his hand, bringing hers to his lips. He smiled against her skin when he saw a rosy hue settle onto her cheeks. “Thank you.”

When he finally turned back to the others, he frowned when he realized that Asmund had left his spot at the base of the tree. Even as his gaze raised to see Thane Everburning grinning like an idiot where he sat in the mid branches, he stopped.

Asmund had climbed the back of the tree and now sat on the branch just behind Thane Everburning, tail swishing as it watched him.  “Thane Everburning—Garrett,” Cullen said, sighing when the man in question seemed to perk up at the familiarity. “Can we agree to a truce? You do not attack my hold so long as there is a threat of Lowlander assault, and I will not attack yours while your people lay claim to the land?”

“Sounds like a deal, Cul.” Garrett hopped down from his place, oblivious as Asmund silently leapt forward to take his place, peering down at him with a curious glint in its eyes.

Cullen twitched at the nickname. He should have known better than to give the man an inch.

However, what was done was done.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Cullen called, before the thane could reach Fenris.

Even as Cullen waited for an answer, Thane Everburning went over to Fenris and whispered something in the elf’s ear. Fenris held his head in his hands a second before Thane Everburning nudged him. With a pronounced eye roll, the elf turned toward them and said something in a strange language Cullen had never heard before.

Katrina went rigid a moment and then snapped something back. When she noticed Cullen had arched an eyebrow, she scowled. “He said he did this to ‘encourage a discussion’ about the whole stealing thing…”

Cullen had to fight the urge to pick up in Katrina’s endeavors to hit Thane Everburning with something hard. When the thane turned to mouth, ‘You’re welcome,’ he almost did.

Katrina glared at the receding forms of the thane and his husband—mostly Thane Everburning, as when Fenris offered her a wave in farewell, she returned it without hesitation. “So does Branson really come out to some place near here? Or was that a lie to ‘help’?”

Before Cullen could answer, Branson cursed under his breath.

“How in the void do they know that?” Branson asked, wary. He’d had his bow drawn and an arrow notched the entire time, and even now looked like he might just shoot the retreating figures.

The three of them watched the Hawks head off in silence. How long had that bastard been snooping around their hold, and why hadn’t anyone noticed? They were questions for another day, though, one he would be asking his hunters and scouts, for sure.

As he turned back toward Gunvor, carefully leading Katrina toward the steed, Branson abruptly swung his bow into place and then stepped up on her other side, nudging her with the back of his hand. “How was _I_ avoiding you? I barely talk to you anyway.”

“Your whole family is avoiding me,” Katrina muttered, eyes narrowing. Her temper was still dancing between fickle resignation and simmering rage. She started to cross her arms, but stopped when it would require letting go of Cullen’s hand. He squeezed hers.

“We weren’t. Bran and I have been busy, and Rosie’s out of the hold on a mission.”

Katrina shook her head. “And you couldn’t have said something? Anything?”

Nodding toward Branson, he hesitated beside Gunvor, needing his hand to get back onto the steed, but not wanting to let hers go just yet. It had been a miserable two days and he wanted to savor her touch, even if she was angry with him.

As he glanced back toward the way Thane Everburning and Fenris had gone, he caught sight of Asmund lounging in the tree still, with Cole sitting next to him. As Cullen looked up, he had the distinct feeling that Cole was the reason the hold-beast had even been nearby.

He looked back at Katrina, gently running his fingers against her cheek before finally freeing his hand. “I should have told you. I meant to, though that probably isn’t much of a consolation.” He smiled when she grumbled something about him being right about that. “And I have a lot more that I need to tell you. Walk with me?”


	20. Set Straight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW, hence the rating upgrade. Also, I don't normally write any sort of smut, so...there's that. 
> 
> Thank you to creepypasta-queen- from tumblr for beta reading!

Cullen lay on his back, hands behind his head, a contemplative frown on his face as he stared up at the ceiling. He’d explained everything he knew to Katrina. When he’d gotten to the Lowlanders, she’d grown more alert, asking him a million questions he hadn’t answers for. Could they describe the fighting style? Had they seen hair color, eye color, skin color? Anything telling? Did they look like assassins, perhaps? What kind of accents? How did they speak certain words? Did they sound like her? Like Fereldens? Like something else?

Cullen had promised that she would have an audience with Grim, once he was back from his latest scouting mission. He’d also promised that they would keep her safe, no matter what was to come. Throughout his explanations, she’d made a few snappy comments about his forgetfulness, but by the end of the conversation, she was apologizing for having worried him, as well.

It took him half the ride back to the hold to muster the courage to offer that he was more than happy to have her share his bed again. There had been a definite, rosy dusting to her cheeks as she’d nodded. Neither of them had seemed to know where to go from there, so she’d finally asked him more about Asmund.

Once they were safely within the hold’s walls again, responsibilities had caught up, and Katrina had excused herself to at least try to get through some of the reading she’d shirked.

That had been hours ago.

Now, despite being beyond tired, Cullen couldn’t fall asleep. He was thinking about what she’d said about being stolen. It meant something different for her than it did for him, and it should have been obvious. He should have figured that out earlier. It felt juvenile that he’d been as upset about it has he had been, and part of him wanted to apologize for that—all he did today seemed to be apologize to her—but another part of him just wanted to add that to the list of things not to bring up.

He had a list now. Lovely.

Even as he closed his eyes, trying to blank his mind so that sleep would claim him, he heard soft footsteps. He lifted his head as Katrina paused on the other side of the bed, peering at him in the darkness to see if he was already asleep. He stretched his hand out to her, and she promptly flopped down onto the bed, clasping his in both of hers and holding it against her heart.

“Cullen.”

“Hmm?”

“I meant it, earlier,” she said. After a pause, she shifted a little closer to him. “You’re not a failure. I don’t think you’re incapable or anything.”

“You made that clear,” he murmured, rolling onto his side so that he could see her better.

“But you thought that was what I meant?”

“I…did not consider how strongly you felt about being ‘owned’.” He considered it a moment and then added, “The Avvar have never bowed to outside rule, and it sounds like your Free Marches are equally strong willed. If you’re any indication, anyway.”

“Flatterer,” Katrina squeezed his hand. He pulled his hand free and then reached out, drawing her to him and wrapping his arms around her. She snuggled against him, and he smiled, feeling her breath on his skin. He’d missed this. How could it have only been two days?

As he felt Katrina’s breathing evening out, he thought back to one of the other issues that had been plaguing him. If she’d had the courage to breach something so touchy as she had today, surely he could as well. “Stay with me here, at the hold.” He felt her head tilt back. He angled his down so that he could look at her. “Or do I have to steal you from yourself first?”

She smiled at that, a sight he’d sorely missed. Propping herself up, she looked down at him, some of her hair falling over her shoulders. “I want to, but I have to finish what I started. I have to make the Comte pay. Even if he wasn’t behind my attempted assassination or sabotaging the Avvar, he _was_ behind Amelia’s running away. She deserves justice, and I won’t let her be denied.” She broke his gaze, letting hers wander down. “If I thought you could, I’d ask you to come with me.” As he took in a sharp breath, surprised by the simplicity of her admission, she forced a laugh. “Don’t worry. I know you can’t leave your hold.”

“You could come back then, when everything is over,” Cullen offered. When Katrina looked back up at him, he tilted his head. “Perhaps I could send Rosalie or Branson with you. They could help you find your way back. And Rosalie would love to see the Lowlands.”

“I…” Katrina flopped back against him, pressing her face against his shoulder. “I don’t know that I can show her the Lowlands of your stories. With my family ties severed, I won’t have much in the way of favors or means to stay in even remotely comfortable inns. She’d be seeing the side of my world that we rather try to hide, even from ourselves.”

“That bad?”

“You would be appalled at the level of debauchery that goes on in the Lowlands. And since we’d have to go back to Orlais, it’ll be even worse than most places. Except for maybe Kirkwall,” Katrina mused, absently tracing patterns across Cullen’s chest. “Kirkwall is such an awful place.”

“You’ve mentioned that before.” Cullen smiled, closing his eyes and enjoying the feel of her fingertips against his skin.

“Well, it’s true. They call us pretentious, but that’s just because they’re mad that we aren’t constantly on fire like they are.”

Cullen opened an eye to peer down at her. “On fire?”

“Always,” Katrina murmured. Her voice sounded a little like she was starting to drift to sleep. “That city is always burning. If it wasn’t a port, people would have given up on it years ago.” She was silent a moment before mumbling against him, “At least, that’s what mother always used to say.”

“You never saw these ever burning fires yourself?” Speaking of this Kirkwall reminded Cullen of Garrett, though he couldn’t quite place why.

“No…” Katrina’s voice was contemplative as she added, “So maybe it’s not as bad as she always said. She was always saying I was the bane of the household, and I don’t think _I_ was that bad.”

Cullen ran his fingers up her arm slowly before burying them in her hair. Tilting his head, he pressed a gentle kiss onto her forehead. “You’re a little wild, but nothing bad.”

“Says the Wildman.”

Cullen couldn’t help but grin. “I take it back. You must be a terror in the Lowlands.”

“Most definitely. Harbinger of Chaos was my brothers’ favorite nickname for me.”

“Still, though…Chaos is not always a bad thing.”

“You just think that because you fancy me,” Katrina whispered. She stretched up and playfully nipped his neck. “Which is good, since I’m rather fond of you as well.”

Letting out a soft growl, he rolled toward her, pushing her onto her back and cradling her head against his arm. Her hair was soft against his skin, and she had a lazy smile on her lips as she watched him. His other hand tipped her chin back, and he brushed his lips against hers, feeling a trill of pleasure when she leaned into his kiss, her hands sliding over his skin until she was pressing her palms into his back, drawing him toward her.

As he kissed along her jaw and moved to her neck, he smiled against her skin. “There is one, small detail I’d like clarified.”

“Hmm?” She asked as she brushed her lips against his ear.

“If I’d come to steal you from the Shadow Wolves, you’d have fought me on it?”

“Really?” Katrina drew her hands under him, lightly shoving as his chest. When he rocked back a little to give her room, she had a scowl on her face. “You’re really still on that?”

“I’m curious.”

Rolling her eyes, she crossed her arms, twisting her lips to one side. “Probably.”

“Probably,” he echoed, letting his gaze wander down her form. When he met her gaze again, he tilted his head. “So you might not have.”

“Well, I _was_ very desperate to get out of that place,” she retorted, a teasing tone in her voice. “I might have waited to argue the finer details until we had some distance between us and that unbearable Wolf.”

“Play the man who ‘fancies’ you just to get away from someone you don’t like?” he asked, catching one of her hands and drawing it up over his shoulder. As he moved to do the same with the other one, she pulled her hand free, running her knuckles gently against his cheek.

“Well, I am a horrid, dastardly Lowlander.” She leaned up and kissed him. She caught him by surprise, her affection stronger than usual. Her fingers curled into his hair, pulling him closer as her lips hungrily moved against his.

He responded in turn, pressing his body against hers as he moved to cup her face in his hands, kissing her back with a desperation he hadn’t realized he had coiled inside of him.

When he pulled away from her, they were both gasping for breath.

“You couldn’t be horrid or dastardly if you tried.”

Katrina laughed at that. “You have never been on my bad side, dear thane.”

“I’ve seen that fire in you,” he murmured, moving down to her neck again. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss against her neck and then another when she tilted her head back to let him reach more of her. A soft moan escaped her.

It sent a shiver down his spine, and he slid an arm under her so that he could press her closer still. The leather of her shirt scraped against his chest. Without thinking, his hands found their way beneath it, fingers splayed and pressed against the soft skin of her back.

She pushed him back a little, and he pulled away instantly, fear flickering through him. He’d gone too far.

However, instead of admonishment or shame, Katrina followed him up, kissing his neck and collarbone before reaching down and jerking her shirt up over her head. She cast it aside and moved toward him, slipping into his lap so that she was straddling him, her breasts pressing against him as she wrapped her arms around him again.

With a grin, he let himself fall back, an arm around her bare waist dragging her with him. She let out a soft cry as they settled against the sheets. His fingers were already sliding the top of her pants down, and she rocked her hips against him, helping him along.

Laughter and desperate kisses preluded the rest of their clothes finding their way to the floor. When they were both laid bare, Cullen hesitated, fingertips drifting along her smooth skin, pausing on the hip that she’d hurt during the raid. There wasn’t even a scar, but he could still remember the way she’d limped, and it brought a brief pain to his chest.

He traced small circles over her skin before looking back at her face, seeing a gentle fondness in her eyes that sent those familiar flames flickering in a different light.

Moving back so that he covered her body with his, he kissed her long and hard. His fingers slipped down between her legs and she gasped against his lips as he slid them inside of her, working her slowly until she ready for him. Finally, with her fingers tangled in his hair, and her lips trailing across his skin between gasps, he took her as his, his hips moving with hers in gentle yet firm strokes that left her arching into him and calling his name as he brought her to climax.

As he followed her into bliss, her name fell from his lips as well.

…-…

Katrina wasn’t sure what time it was when she woke up, though she couldn’t bring herself to care much. Her body had a pleasant ache to it, and strong arms were still wrapped around her from where they’d fallen asleep the night before.

She sighed contentedly, letting the world slip by as she chose to simply exist.

Last night had been…perfect in so many ways. She’d had partners before, but with them, it had always been sex that they’d wanted, and sex they’d gotten. With Cullen, though, he’d wanted _her_.

It was a foreign feeling, to be wanted in every way—in _any_ way—and it caught in her chest like a swallowed pit. She didn’t quite know what to do with it, truly.

And so she lay there, replaying the events of the night before, curled up in his arms.

When he finally stirred, the first thing he did was tighten his grip on her, pulling her closer again as he breathed in her hair.

“Good morning, my thane.”

A pleased hum escaped his throat as his lips found their way to her ear. “Good morning, my lady.”

Even as the words passed his lips, he seemed to tense. She rolled over to face him, catching the fretful expression on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“I…that is…” he trailed off, avoiding her gaze. “I did not mean to bring up that you are…or aren’t—”

She caught his lips with hers, interrupting his fumbling apology. His hands slid across her back, fingers curling gently into her skin as he held her to him, returning her kiss. When she pulled away, she arched her eyebrows, tilting her head back a little as she watched him.

“You know, at the end of the day, it is a title. If you wish to call me that, I don’t mind at all.”

“I don’t want to see you cry again,” he whispered.

She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. She pulled him closer, cradling his head against her neck. “Cullen, you adorable fool.” He grunted at that, though she simply held him. “If I’m going to cry about something out of your control, there’s not a damned thing you can do to stop it, so best to just let it take its course.” She hesitated, before finally loosening her grip on him. As he raised his head to meet her gaze, she cocked hers. “Is that why you never want me talking about my family? You’re afraid I’ll break down?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but stopped himself. Finally, he shook his head. “It’s not right. You should not have been banished as you were.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Katrina shrugged a little, “I don’t see how it matters, truly.” When he tilted his head, she arched her brow. “Would you rather my father come marching down here, demanding you set free his little girl? I did not think you were so fond of dramatics.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “I like the way things are turning out, myself.”

“I just…” Cullen sat up, slowly untangling himself from her as he did so. Running a hand through his hair, he shook his head. “I do not like that you could have been rejected as you were. That you could have been cast out for such a stupid reason.”

At that, Katrina narrowed her eyes for just a moment. When she’d told him her woes, blubbering like a small child who’d had their favorite toy chewed to pieces by a dog, he’d professed that he hadn’t been able to understand most of what she’d said.

When, in the morning, he’d been outraged on her behalf, she hadn’t thought much of it.

Now, however…

Now, honestly, she could see Cullen at least somewhat siding with her father, in at least understanding that her father had been protecting his family, his ‘hold’, by cutting loose the member who would be most likely to bring ruin upon the family.

“That’s not it, is it?” She lightly reached out, trailing her fingers down his muscular arm. “You fear I choose you because I have no other options?”

His gaze snapped toward her, looking most insulted. “I know you would not lay with me if you did not want it.”

Despite the swell of pride in her chest that he could be so sure of her as he was, she chose to feign suspicion, shrugging a little. “If you say so…though I suppose I should point out that if I really, honestly, _truly_ wished it, I probably _could_ go home.”

Cullen appraised her carefully, as though trying to figure out what game she was on about. “You could?”

“I could,” Katrina nodded. Slowly, she pushed herself up to sit beside him. “Though I don’t see that I would. I’d have to apologize profusely, for the most part, and I have never been fond of or good at groveling.”

Cullen frowned. “But it wasn’t your fault.”

“Precisely!” Katrina nodded. “It’s stupid. I’ve done nothing wrong—er than usual. They should recognize that this falls under rather extraordinary circumstances and work with me.”

“I agree.”

She slipped under his arm, wrapping hers around him. “That’s why I like you. One of the reasons, anyway.”

“Oh?” His fingers found his way into her hair as she kept talking.

“You get that sometimes the world just requires anarchy. Sometimes you have to do what’s right, even if it will definitely bring ruin to you and everyone you love.” 

He stiffened a second before looking down at her, clearly suspicious.

She couldn’t help a triumphant smirk. “ _You_ don’t know why I can’t go home.”

“I…”

She squeezed him a little, head tilted back to watch him. “Out with it. What did Morrigan tell you?”

The look of realization on his features was such a gradual thing. First, the fact that there had been a miscommunication that settled in, sweeping some of the tension out of his neck and shoulders. Then came the dawning that whatever assumptions he’d made—at the coercion of Morrigan or otherwise—were likely misconstrued at best.

Then a frown that she had figured it out before him.

“She said you were considered impure, and couldn’t go home because of that.” 

Katrina stared blankly at him. “What?”

“That you were banished because you were…alone with men.”

Katrina stared up at him another moment before she abruptly burst out laughing. Twisting away from him, she fell face down on the bed, body trembling as she cackled into the furs.

The Maker or whatever was out there had the most twisted sense of humor.

Even as she gasped for breath, trying to calm down enough to comfort her dear thane, she felt his hand rest between her shoulder blades. His other hand swept her hair back so that he could kiss her shoulder.

“Katrina.”

“Maker… You thought…” She lifted her head a little, barely able to breathe let alone form coherent sentences. “No wonder you’ve been so…” Rather abruptly she twisted about and threw her arms around his neck, dragging him down to her and holding him close. She pressed a few kisses against his temple before finally regaining control enough to speak. “My dear, sweet thane. I was not cast out because of any such thing. I disobeyed my father. He didn’t want me to pursue justice for Amelia and made me choose between her and the family. I can’t go home because I burned that bridge, and I don’t know that I’d be willing to try to rebuild it.”

“Truly?”

“You may not believe it, but I very rarely do anything that I don’t want to do.”

“It is not as hard to imagine as you may think,” he grinned.

Rolling her eyes, she ran her fingers along his cheek. “My father always complained that I was too strong willed.”

“I like your will,” Cullen countered, almost as soon as she’d said it. “And I think I like that you belong to yourself. I wouldn’t have liked having to ask your father for permission to steal you.”

“You sure about that?” Katrina arched her eyebrows. “He’d have probably given me to you. Paid you to take me, even.”

Cullen frowned, drawing her closer to him again and resting his head beside hers. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Oh, you want fun, do you?” Katrina ran her hand up his back, nails trailing over his skin.

He kissed her, lips curling into a smile in time with hers. “It’s really not because of anything we did?”

“It is not.”

 “Good,” he murmured into her ear. When she let him go so that he could sit up, he smiled down at her, running his hand over her hair. “I was afraid we’d ruined you.”

“That,” she sat up as well, though she leaned back on her elbows, watching him, “is something you’ll never need to worry about. I do a good job of that all on my own.”

Cullen’s smile tugged up one corner of his mouth, “So then…” When Katrina arched her brow, he nuzzled his nose against hers. “All I have to do is find a way to steal you from yourself.”

“Are we really back to that, again?”

He pulled back a little, tilting his head. “We are. Do you have any tips for me?”

“I do not think you will like it.”

“Try me.”

She slipped her arms up around his neck, crossing them at her wrists. “I fear you cannot steal me.” She waited a moment, watching his smile slip slightly. Then, she simply lifted her head and pressed her lips lightly to his before stretching to whisper in his ear. “You can’t steal what you already have.”

He kissed her neck. “Is that so?” She let out a soft moan as his lips trailed lower. “Then what should I do?”

“I can think of a few things.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	21. Twists and Turns

Cullen’s arm curled around Katrina’s waist, and an approving pride filled him as she elbowed his stomach just right, forcing him to let her go. She slipped out of his grip and whirled to face him, daggers in hand. Pacing back a few steps, Cullen inspected her form. There were still more than a few ways past her defenses, but she was definitely getting better.

Still, the thought of her up against a well-trained chevalier made him blanch. It was what kept him pushing their training lessons, especially as the number of journals left to translate continued to dwindle.

Soon, she’d be heading back into the Lowlands, away from him. Even if they had agreed it would be a temporary separation, it still gnawed at him.

 Without really meaning to, he put a bit more force into his next attack, and they both tumbled to the ground, her daggers flying from her hands. Katrina let out a sharp hiss as he thudded down on top of her awkwardly. Even as he shoved his hands into the grass, easing his weight on her, she pulled her arm up, cursing quietly and brushing dirt from a small cut near her elbow.

Cullen rocked back, moving off of her and darting over to where he’d dropped their water flasks at the entrance to their cove. When he came back, she was sitting up, fingers gingerly feathering over her arm. The cut wasn’t deep or long, but he still felt guilt curling inside of him, regardless.

“Do you hurt anywhere else?”

With a laugh, Katrina rolled her eyes. Though she still had a rather thick accent, her Avvar was damned near perfect at this point. She had been dedicated these last two months, after all. “I’m not so weak that a scratch is something to fret over, Cullen.”

He hesitated, his fingers trailing along the skin on her arm. With a sigh, he carefully poured water over the cut and examined it. It really wasn’t anything to worry over.

Katrina pulled her arm free from his grasp with ease and then draped herself over his shoulders, pulling herself to him so that their noses were almost touching. “Though it is endearing that you care so.”

With a grin, he leaned forward, catching her lips with his. She leaned into him, parting her mouth invitingly. He tilted his head for a better angle and—

“Thane?”

Cullen hadn’t even realized that he’d guided Katrina back onto the ground, one hand tangled in her hair while the other slid up her shirt, until he was moving away from her, frown in place.

Jim stood just inside the cove. No doubt he’d noticed that his more recent interrupts had involved more than twined fingers or chaste kisses.

As Katrina let out a faint laugh—she always found more amusement in these things than Cullen—he considered just slumping down on top of her again, if only to hear her giggle out a protest. However, they had an audience, and such games would have to wait. He’d promised himself, after all, that he would never give his clan a reason to wish for his dear Lowlander to be gone, and so long as he was able to focus when it mattered, no one seemed to care much for his dalliance. He moved away from Katrina for the second time this morning and sat back, looking up at his warrior. “Yes?”

Jim shifted a little uneasily, as though he were embarrassed. Or simply uneasy. Cullen wondered what the man must have done to have it so that the Gods always seemed to send him Cullen’s way when he was otherwise preoccupied. “Thane Everburning is coming to the hold.”

“Again?” Cullen snapped, already on his feet. He’d heard that the White Feathers were settling in well, but hadn’t expected to hear from them so soon.

“He’d better be on better behavior this time,” Katrina muttered. She’d gathered their things and stood beside him, looping an arm with his and leaning against him. She’d finally gotten to the point where she didn’t mind wearing lighter clothes—they still seemed ridiculously heavy by Avvar standards—and Cullen fought back a shiver when her skin pressed against his.

It was quickly getting to the hottest part of the year for the mountains, and Cullen had often mused about—if they were just approaching ‘decent’ weather by her Lowlander standards—what Katrina actually counted as too warm?

“He said he had a surprise for you.” Jim said, stiffly. “That’s all the scout would say.”

“That’s it?” Cullen asked, skeptical. He took his belongings from Katrina, strapping his sword to his hip. When his hands were free, he wrapped an arm around her, not bothering to hide the way his fingertips made their way underneath the hem of her pants. She certainly didn’t mind it.

“Do thanes usually like to surprise one another?”

Leaning down to kiss her temple, Cullen shook his head. “Not generally. Most clans don’t interact too often.”

“Because loyalty is to your hold, not the Avvar as a people.”

“Yes.” Cullen grinned and hugged her closer to him. Since their ridiculously convoluted misunderstandings, both of them had been striving to understand one another’s cultures. There were still a few hiccups every so often, but with the mindset that neither of them intended any ill will, things had been going well.

There certainly hadn’t been anything like the “stolen brides” fiasco.

They’d added cultural questions—about the Free Marches not Orlais, for Morrigan’s sake—to their nightly ritual, once Rosalie had returned from her scouting mission.

Rosalie had been in a rather fickle mood upon her return, mostly because she had found traces of the Lowlanders, but hadn’t been able to find _them_.

Either they were still in the Wolves’—now the White Feathers’—territory, or they were evading her…somehow. Their movement patterns had been unpredictable and mindboggling, and she’d been upset to admit that she’d failed.

Branson had offered to go hunt them down, only to earn their little sister’s ire. Rosalie had insisted that he wouldn’t have better luck than she did.

Branson had gone anyway, under the guise of a hunt.

He had also returned, puzzled by his findings. The Lowlanders had, if Duncan was to be trusted, stated that they were after Katrina, and yet they did not appear to be actually coming for her.

It left them rather unsettled, but Katrina hadn’t seemed worried. When Cullen had mentioned it to her, she’d shrugged and said, “Maybe they’re just really lost?”

That was a ridiculous notion, if ever he had heard it. If these Lowlanders were out here hunting Katrina, they would obviously have been sent in part because of their skills with tracking.

The fact that she could be so casual about people who were out here to bring harm to her was a little disconcerting, though he supposed there was a chance that Cole had influenced that mellow attitude. The God tried his damnedest to make sure they didn’t fret about things that ‘didn’t matter’, and Katrina seemed to take his word more willingly than Cullen. He was a bit surprised, considering the rumors he’d heard of Lowlanders’ feelings toward the Gods.

However, he’d already figured out that she hardly counted as a standard Lowlander. When he’d worried, she’d just cuddled closer to Cullen and gotten him off topic by letting her hand wander down under the sheets.

She was good at distracting him from most anything.

It was a power she, fortunately, used mostly for good, reserving it for banishing his worries rather than interrupting his duties as thane.

Rosalie was rather smug about the whole thing. She’d been right. Katrina was to be theirs, now and forever. As their nightly ritual resumed, and they worked their way through more and more of Rosalie’s treasures, the duo had formed a sisterly bond.

Sometimes Cullen worried about what the two might be plotting, especially if he came into a room and they both looked up at him with ‘No, we haven’t been doing anything questionable’ looks only to find reasons to be talking about the weather when he asked how their days had been.

Whatever they were up to, he doubted it would put the hold in danger, and so he let them have it. Branson was a little more paranoid, but even he had admitted that he at _least_ trusted Rosalie enough not to set something important on fire.

Nodding to Jim, Cullen sighed. “And he gave no indication of what this ‘gift’ was to be?”

“No, my thane,” Jim replied quickly. He held back the branches for Cullen and Katrina and followed them out of the cove as they headed back to the hold.

However, they’d barely made it a few yards when Cassandra jogged up to them. “Cullen!” she called out, picking up her pace until she could stop in front of him. “Thane Everburning has a…gift.”

“Jim already told me,” Cullen said, sighing.

“Did he tell you that the thane was on our scouts’ heels?”

“The message had sounded like he was at least a day out,” Jim objected, hastily. “I would have mentioned that.”

“We know.” Katrina reached out and lightly thwacked the back of her hand against his shoulder in comradery. He nodded to her and then furrowed his brow as Cassandra let out a disgusted noise.

“Apparently his version of giving us a warning is to send someone ahead by less than an hour.”

Cullen frowned. “How did he bypass our scouts?”

“Oh, he would have just shown up, if they had not found him first,” Cassandra muttered, with a firm shake of her head, as though so simple an action could rid her of Thane Everburning’s presence. “He said that our hold was doing a ‘good job’ and that he was proud.”

Cullen ran his hands down his face, taking in a slow breath through gritted teeth before nodding slowly. Turning to Katrina, he caught her hands in his and drew them up to kiss her knuckles. “I think we should part ways for now. I will deal with this.”

“You think I’ll throw something at him again, don’t you?” Katrina mused, a slight smile on her lips.

He fought the urge to pull her to him and forget about that worthless thane. “Considering the daggers on your hips, that could end very poorly for a great many people.” Even as Cassandra rolled her eyes, he cupped Katrina’s face in his hands, thumbs stroking her cheeks. “I’ll see you tonight at latest.”

“And I suppose I will read.” Reaching up on her toes, she kissed him before slipping her hands free and heading back into the hold.

…-…

It was apparently so stifling that the Avvar now slept during the hottest part of the day, to conserve their energy. Katrina was baffled by their inability to stand heat. They really would melt in Starkhaven. This was early spring, still-wear-a-light-coat weather. And yet all the Avvar acted as though water boiled as soon as the sun touched it, retreating into the safety of their huts until the shadows might again bind the world in remnants of their winter God’s coolness.

At least she didn’t feel like she was going to lose a finger to frostbite when she stepped outside anymore.

And her training sessions with Cullen warmed her up. Cullen in general warmed her up, really. It was enough that she could wear short sleeves and lighter leathers, in the least. The rest of the hold was either shirtless or wearing simple chest bindings, and half of them forwent pants, settling simply for kilts or loincloths.

It still made her shiver sometimes, looking at them. However, she’d managed to rein in her complaints about the weather, as there wasn’t much one could do about such things, other than move. And moving was the last thing she wanted to do.

And they did keep telling her that it was warmer than usual, as though the Gods were tailoring the weather just for her.

That…

That made her dread the thought of the dead of winter in the mountains. She’d come through on the cusp of spring. In her home, it would have been warm enough for short sleeves by the time the ice was just beginning to thaw here. Now, she supposed the occupants of Starkhaven were donning light cotton tunics and dresses, using the ‘gossip fans’ to keep themselves cool as the temperature continued to rise.

Even with the threat of frigid snow looming in her not so distant future, she wanted to stay with Cullen, as she’d told him several times—yet he still asked her every now and then, as though he thought she would change her mind. Every time she slipped her arms around him or simply squeezed his hand and said yes, she’d somehow find herself swept off to a quiet nook within the hold where they could forget about the rest of the world for a little while. Sometimes she teased him that he was getting _too_ caught up in their love affair, but he always chased her coy quips away with a brush of his lips and wandering hands.

And Lady, but that man knew how to use his tongue.

Katrina felt a slight flush to her cheeks as she thought about their last little tryst, when they hadn’t quite been able to contain themselves long enough to get back to his home. Katrina bit her lip at the resurgence of those memories. He’d taken her behind a few large rocks that must have fallen from the top of the cliffs ages ago, creating an almost completely enclosed area, perfect for secret meetings and the like. It was just off the path she was walking now, to get back to his home.

As she glanced over toward it, remembering quite fondly how Cullen had lifted her up so that her back had been against the cold stone—for once she hadn’t minded the chill—she paused.

She could swear she’d just seen someone slip back there.

It made sense that more than just Cullen would know of that little place—and their other hideaways, too, she garnered.

However, she would have to pass the nook to get back to Cullen’s home, and she didn’t want to eavesdrop. After all, what if it was Branson or Rosalie back there? She wished them happiness and all that, but that didn’t mean she wanted to hear their throes of passion.

Figuring that if she walked by fast enough, surely whoever it was wouldn’t have had time to get terribly far in their activities, she picked up her pace, intent on zipping past before anyone could be the wiser—and honestly, in that little hiding spot, it was pretty easy not to notice the world outside, so she doubted they’d even know she’d been by.

However, as she moved as quietly and quickly as she could, she heard something just as she came parallel to the outermost boulder.

“…coming along well, then?”

“Indeed, we should be finished within the month.”

Katrina stopped without thinking. The second voice had been Morrigan, she was sure, but the first had been…

Dorian?

She sidestepped a bit closer to the rocks, abruptly forgetting that only seconds earlier she’d been intent on not listening.

For a moment, she couldn’t hear anything, and she wondered if perhaps she was just crazy.

Finally, Morrigan’s voice started up again. “I’ve managed to keep all the journals involving our clan and the Lions from the thane’s little Lowlander, but it will be too suspicious if we don’t find _something_. Every other clan near Orlais has been in the books.” She paused before adding. “I think Thane Magicsbane is suspicious of us, as well.”

“Has he said anything?”

That was definitely Dorian’s voice.

“Not as of yet, but I fear it is a matter of time. He is probably suspicious that nothing has been found in regards to our clans already, as the books were hardly in order.”

“Tell him the Gods must have wanted assurance of your safety, if he asks.”

“Or I could simply leave with the last few journals. Most of them are in the common tongue. It will not be hard to translate them.”

“If you ‘simply’ disappear,” Dorian was saying. Katrina could guess the rest. Suspicions, blah blah.

How was Dorian in the hold? Were these places really _that_ easy to sneak into? Glancing around, she carefully backtracked some ways down the path, to the side of the rocks that didn’t have an opening to the outside world.

Carefully and quietly, she scaled the rocks, just high enough that she could peer into the little area. Morrigan had positioned herself so that she could see anyone coming into the little nook, which meant her back was to Katrina.

And she was completely alone.

Katrina furrowed her brow, stretching her neck as though she would find the Wolves’ augur stooped down and hiding awkwardly nearer the ground.

Instead, Morrigan said something and then…

Then a little stone in her palm lit up, and Katrina could just barely make out the drum of Dorian’s voice.

She wasn’t sure how she managed, but she scaled back down the cliff face and hurried to Cullen’s home. As she reached the door, Rosalie was leaning against the frame, waiting for her.

Even as she offered a short, monotone greeting, Katrina gripped Rosalie’s arm and dragged her into the building, waiting until they were all the way in Katrina’s room before letting her go. Even then, she ushered her into the furthest corner from the door before whispering. “Morrigan’s hiding the journals that have to do with the Lions.”

Whatever Rosalie had been prepared to say in response to Katrina’s odd actions died on her lips.

Without prodding, Katrina did her best to parrot back what she’d heard, pacing as she explained the stone and how Morrigan must have been in touch with her clan the whole time, constantly giving them updates.

When she was finished, Katrina stared at Rosalie expectantly, though she couldn’t quite place what exactly it was that she was actually expecting.

Rosalie stared back at her for a minute before rolling her eyes, her following question in her standard drone. “I take our reading lesson is off for today?”

Shortly after her first tumble in the sheets with Cullen, Rosalie had come to her, asking about how hard it was to learn to read. Katrina had been somewhat surprised, seeing as she’d been under the impression that the Avvar in general were not particularly fond of letters. Rosalie had confessed that her older brothers probably wouldn’t be thrilled with the idea, considering it was considered weak to need to rely on the written word to make a point that a sword or voice could easily convey.

While Katrina couldn’t quite see the logic, she figured it was another of those culture gaps that she might never come to fully understand. Despite not wishing to disregard the Avvar’s traditions, Rosalie had pleaded. Her voice had even risen into a regular octave, and Katrina had been unable to leave her pleas unanswered.

It was somewhat fun to sneak around, teaching Rosalie something that Karina had always taken for granted. Reading and writing. She’d always known that only the more privileged were allowed such knowledge, but seeing someone so hungry to learn changed her world in some unfathomable way.

First, however, she’d had to teach Rosalie more of the spoken word in common, so that when they wrote, they weren’t just spelling Avvar words phonetically. It seemed like a blemish on the Avvar’s proud ways to do _that_.

As they’d worked out times to meet for their lessons and the like, Cullen or Branson would occasionally happen by and eye them with suspicion, Branson more so than his brother. However, neither of them had figured out what was going on, and the duo enjoyed the secrecy.

“Well, I suppose we could work on your reading, but don’t you want to find out what Morrigan is hiding from us?”

“I like Morrigan,” Rosalie murmured, shrugging a little.

“And what’s that got to do with it?” Katrina hissed, leaning toward her conspiratorially. “I don’t dislike her. Don’t you want to know what she doesn’t want us to know?” She paused and then added, “We could use the journals she’s hiding for your next lesson.”

At that, Rosalie straightened up a little. Despite still appearing mostly expressionless, she let her gaze wander toward the door and then back to Katrina. “If she’s hiding books, it’d have to be in her room, yes?”

“I’d wager so.”

Rosalie frowned. “Then we can’t do anything. Cullen gave her that room as a guest. To invade it would be to say we do not trust her, and the clan would not take that well. They may tolerate her, but I promise you there are many here who are ready for her to slip up.”

“Really?” Katrina’s shoulders slumped. She’d noticed a few times how moods went fickle at the mention of the Wolf, but she’d just sort assumed that time—and Cole—was helping heal all wounds and whatnot. And of course, there was the detail that she and Morrigan were certain that Lowlanders had been behind the Veilfire Caverns incident. Though…they hadn’t found proof of that yet, had they?

Or had Morrigan already found it? Was that one of the things she was keeping from them? For what purpose?

Katrina crossed her arms, finally ceasing her pacing. “We can’t just…say…peek in the room quickly?”

“It is a breach of trust. We would either be shaming ourselves or saying she is no longer a guest.”

Katrina crossed her arms, drumming her fingers against herself. “Hmm… There has to be a way to see them.”

Seeing as Katrina never used the room she’d been given as a guest herself, all of the books they’d been reading were stored in there, and that was where they often came to read. That meant that they couldn’t even wander into Morrigan’s room claiming that they were just there to get more books.

“What if I was carrying a few journals out so that I could read outside and dropped them, and they bounced into the room—”

“Any extra books you’d come out with would be under scrutiny.”  

Even as Katrina turned to glance out the doorway to her room, trying to summon some brilliant idea, she saw Cole trotting in to see them. Perking up, she offered him a small wave. Rosalie followed suit, though she seemed a little puzzled as to who the young man was. That was the way it typically went with Cole, however, and Katrina couldn’t find it in her to be bothered by it. By the time he left, Rosalie would have forgotten he’d ever been there.

“ _Swift fingers, silent steps. Items gone in a blink…or maybe just forgotten. A helping hand indeed. Is it blasphemy to ask a God to lift a book? Or common sense_?” He stopped in front of her, shoulders ever so slightly slouched forward. “I don’t know one way or the other, but I can get you what you want.”

Katrina perked up. “Really? You know where she’s keeping—”

Cole held up a finger to his lips and then pointed toward the wall. At first Katrina was lost. Was Morrigan eavesdropping somehow? His words brought clarity to his action. “You are needed in the thane’s hall.”

Rosalie and Katrina were abruptly alone in the room.

Even as Katrina tilted her head, glancing in the general direction of the throne room, Rosalie began toward the door. Her words similar to the strange boy’s, the way most people’s were after he’d given them a suggestion and then disappeared. “I think Cullen might need help.”

Though Katrina considered that Cullen had preferred her staying out of the way while Garrett was present—she couldn’t think of him as Thane Everburning, despite the occasional effort—Cole’s words were very rarely so clear, and when they were, it was a sure sign they should be heeded.

The two of them headed over quickly. As they entered into the cave that housed the throne room, they first saw that Cullen wasn’t seated at the naturally made throne, but rather standing a few feet from it, face drawn in surprise. Garrett and Fenris stood beside him, both facing two prisoners dressed in tattered cloaks and muddied shoes. Despite the wear, their garments were clearly of Lowlands origin.

As Katrina and Rosalie stepped through the mouth of the cave, Garrett’s eyes lifted to them first, forming little half-moons as a grin split his lips. “Speak of the Lowlander, and she will come.”

At his words, the two prisoners turned to peer over their shoulders, and Katrina felt her entire world grind to a halt.


	22. Lowlanders

Cullen hadn’t known what to expect when Thane Everburning had abruptly dropped by, but it hadn’t been for the man to bring him the two Lowlanders who had been plaguing his nightmares for the last two months.

The longer they’d gone without finding them, the more his dreams had twisted. What if they’d gone back to get reinforcements? What if they marched on his hold, and they were unprepared? What if they took Katrina?

Katrina had done her best to allay his fears with gentle touches and whispered reassurances, but as night settled, and she drifted to sleep in his arms, his thoughts would wind back. Cole came by sometimes to offer him a word of comfort. The God assured Cullen that things would be alright. Cole would help.

But even so…

Even so, even so, even so.

A million little things would pop into his head as he lay there in the darkness, mulling over the different ways they might be attacked, the ways that they might lose. He did his best to prepare, but no one could foresee everything.

He certainly hadn’t foreseen this.

Thane Everburning and Fenris had been escorted into the hold, along with their small party, and Cullen had barely made it to the throne room before them. It had left him in a rather fickle mood as Thane Everburning had sauntered in, spreading his arms wide as though he might catch Cullen in a bear hug.

“Cul!”

He tried not to cringe. “Tha—Garrett.”

Fenris motioned for two other White Feathers to lead in two rather destitute creatures. Both of them had a slight stumble to their walks—a sign that they’d been pushed far beyond their endurance. Their clothes were dark, and clearly from the Lowlands. Their hoods were up, faces shadowed, though wisps of blonde hair fell from beneath each hood.

As the initial report had said, one was a woman and one was an elf. They both looked too slight, underfed, perhaps. Or perhaps he was just used to the brawn of the Avvar. After all, Fenris seemed rather willowy—Katrina, too.

Even as his eyes searched their clothes for any crests or sigils—not that he’d have recognized them, anyway—Garrett slung an arm over each of their shoulders. Despite the shadows on their faces, Cullen could still make out their scowls. “I found the scoundrels after our dear Lowlander.”

“I do not see that she is ‘our’ anything,” Cullen snapped before he could stop himself.

Garrett seemed most amused, though he did rein in whatever he was about to say when Fenris snapped something at him under his breath. Fenris moved to stand closer to Cullen, pausing to bow when he was an appropriate distance. “Thane Magicsbane, we wished to make restitution for our dear thane’s earlier antics. We hope that delivering to you those who seek Katrina would help to smooth things over.”

They’d been speaking in Avvar, a language that neither Lowlander seemed to understand. However, at mention of Katrina’s name, the woman straightened up—or rather, she tried to, under the weight of Garrett’s heavy arm—and as she started speaking, it was with a rather familiar accent and a rather familiar voice. “You _are that uncouth brigand who kidnapped Lady Trevelyan? I will have you know_ —”

Garret’s hand curled around her face, clasping over her mouth. The woman made a slight screeching noise and tried to shoulder him away from her. Garrett simply laughed. He let go of the elf to point to his own ear. “You hear it, don’t you?”

Cullen stared at the woman, rising from his throne and taking a few slow steps toward her. Garrett released her mouth and pushed both Lowlanders down onto their knees. Even as they grunted their disapproval, he jerked their hoods back and came to stand beside Cullen, a wide grin in place.

“Meet those who would steal back your dear Lowlander.”

Cullen couldn’t respond. Korth’s teeth, he couldn’t think.

The elf could have up and left for all he knew, because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the woman. Her face was a tad rounder than Katrina, and her hair had been done up in a simple bun, but aside from that, she looked almost _exactly_ like his Lowlander.

His Katrina.

At first, an irrational terror that somehow his Katrina had never truly been his stirred inside him. However, no sooner had it reared its head, he was banishing it. This was not his lady.

This was…

As if the Gods sought to reinforce the realization slowly falling into place in Cullen’s head, Garrett said, “Speak of the Lowlander, and she will come.”

Cullen’s gaze snapped up to Katrina. She was walking with Rosalie, in the Avvar clothes he’d held her in that morning, that thin scar running down her forehead from the night of the raid. Her hair fell free around her shoulders and down her back, the light from outside reaching into the cave to make her hair shimmer.

However, her eyes were not on him.

Instead, she’d looked down to the other Lowlanders as they’d peered back over their shoulders to see who else was coming in to gawk at them.

In a breath, they were both on their feet, stumbling toward her. She met them halfway, arms wrapping around the woman first. “Amelia?” She took a step back, looking over her sister, tears already spilling from her eyes, hands coming up to cover her mouth. “ _I don’t_ —”

The elf was untying Amelia’s hands.

Cullen frowned, abruptly looking around for the elf’s bindings. They had been discarded on the floor where he’d initially knelt. His hair was a darker shade of blonde than Katrina’s and Amelia’s and came down to about his shoulders. He had a tawny complexion and moved with an eerie grace. When he’d freed Amelia and hugged the both of them, Cullen could see tattoos curving up near his left eye, two simple lines, nothing more.

“Zevran! _I-I don’t_ —” Katrina’s words failed her, and she gripped the two of them tightly to her. As she sniffled through her tears, struggling to rein in her rampant emotions, she shook her head, trying to smile. “ _I should have listened to your warnings. About people attempting to assassinate me someday_.”

“ _Yes, well. I can hardly fault you for your optimism, dear lady_.” He reached up and tousled her hair, a grin in place.

Katrina looked back at Amelia, gripping her sister by her shoulders. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but tears overtook her again, and she simply clung to Amelia instead.

Garrett nudged Cullen in the arm, leaning toward him to whisper, “We caught them running from a gurgut. You should have been there. I don’t know if they’d tried to hunt the damn thing for a meal or what, but it was angrier than I’ve ever seen one of those beasts.”

“They probably stole its eggs,” Fenris muttered, shrugging.

Even as Garrett considered the possibility and shrugged, Cullen walked toward them. What was he even supposed to do right now? Introduce himself? It seemed awkward to insert himself into such a reunion. How often had he heard Katrina rant about the injustices committed against her dear sister? How often had she sworn that Amelia deserved to be safe and happy? How often had he seen the unspoken truth beneath her words, that she missed her sister more than words could convey?

He stopped a few feet short of them.

However, he had not stopped far enough away, for Amelia saw him. Instantly, her arms were wrapped tightly around Katrina, dragging her sister to her, angling her neck a little awkwardly as Amelia clung to her, as though to keep her safe from a monster. “ _You stay back! You will relinquish any claims you have to my sister and allow us safe passage from your territory or you will face the full force of our people_!”

Even as Cullen straightened up, a little indignant at the tone of her demands, Katrina’s face blanked. She carefully untangled herself from the death grip her sister had on her and carefully appraised her. “ _What are you on about?_ ”

The elf, Zevran, seemed to have picked up on something, and his stance was relaxed, a half-smile playing on his lips as he watched the two.

Amelia, however, was about as tense as one could be without breaking. She gripped Katrina around the waist, pulling her closer again. She switched to a different language to whisper something to her sister.

Katrina rolled her eyes. When she spoke, it was still in common. “ _There is absolutely no need for grandstanding_.” Katrina’s voice was just a little deeper than Amelia’s. As she shook her head apologetically at Cullen, tear tracks still smudged on her cheeks, Amelia whacked her on the back of the head and hissed something else in that foreign language. “ _Amelia, calm down. This is_ …” She trailed off, and glanced at him before asking in Avvar, “Is it appropriate for me to introduce you?”

“ _I am Thane Cullen Ar Eydis O Lionhold Magicsbane_.” Cullen bowed his head to them after he’d offered his name.

Zevran crowed. “ _Oh, ho. And I thought those Orlesians had long titles. It is no wonder they dislike the mountain men so. They have managed to upstage them_.”

“Zevran,” Amelia hissed. The elf shrugged in response. She looked a little lost as she glared at Cullen, still holding Katrina tight enough that she couldn’t go over to Cullen. Limited as she was, Katrina held her hand out to him, and he stepped forward to take it, clasping her fingers in his.

Amelia looked ready to claw Cullen’s arm to pieces, but Katrina managed to catch her attention again, tilting her head toward Cullen. When she spoke, it was softly. “ _He’s a good man. He saved me, more than once. And he’s kind and_ —”

“ _If he’s such a good man_ ,” Amelia retorted, finally speaking in a language Cullen could follow, “ _then he’ll let you come home where you belong_.”

“ _I don’t want to go back to Starkhaven_ ,” Katrina objected.

At that, Amelia’s gaze snapped away from Cullen, where she seemed to have been memorizing his features so that she might always be able to pick him out of a crowd and properly direct her ire, and back to her sister. “ _Of course you do_.”

“ _I do not_.”

Cullen listened to the two of them argue back and forth a moment before holding out his free hand to interrupt. Amelia glared daggers, Katrina watched him curiously. “ _Forgive me, but I_ …” His common was rusty, especially seeing as he hadn’t used much of it since Katrina had begun speaking Avvar. “ _I thought you,_ ” he pointed to Amelia, “ _were the one who needed saving. From a Comte_.”

Amelia cocked her head, giving him a belittling look that reminded him of how Katrina had first looked at him when Jim had captured her during the raid, all those months ago. Had it already been almost half a year that he’d known her? “ _And just what did you promise my sister that you would do, mountain man? Raid his manor in Val Royeaux? That would be quite the sight_.”

“ _Amelia, don’t be so callous_ ,” Katrina objected. “ _He offered me no promises he could not keep_.”

“ _Katrina, need I remind you of what happened in Ostwick_?”

“ _Amelia, no. Don’t bring up Ostwick_.”

“ _They had you for a week, and when father brought the ransom, you insisted that they were not kidnappers_.”

“ _I was thirteen_ ,” Katrina objected, rolling her eyes. “ _And if you recall, father came home with both me and the money. Kidnappers would not have let him do that_.”

“ _For a week Clarence and I were certain they’d be sending us your finger or toe or ear or…_ ” Amelia shook her head, destitute. Glaring at Cullen with renewed disdain, she tugged Katrina’s hand out of his. “ _You will keep your hands off my sister. I don’t know what you’ve told her, but we will have no more of that_.”

“ _I already told you he’s a good man_ —”

“ _And you are a terrible judge of character_.”

“ _You clearly can’t think that. You’re traveling with Zevran, who has been my friend for years_.”

At that, Amelia let go of Katrina and held up a hand, index finger pointed at Katrina. “ _I will have words with you about that later_!”

As Katrina snapped back some retort, Zevran crossed his arms, shifting his weight a little and then bringing up one of his hands so that he could inspect his nails. “ _You know, when I offered to help you find Katrina, I did not expect to fall under such scrutiny myself_.”

Katrina gave him a sympathetic shrug that seemed to push Amelia to a new level of anger. Cullen could see a similar fire to Katrina’s raging in her hazel eyes. Neither of her fellow Lowlanders seemed to care.

“ _You should know_ ,” Zevran offered, “ _that your sister is somewhat of a force of nature. I am happy to announce that I had just parted ways with the Crows and was wondering how long until I parted ways with my life, when she simply appeared in my room. While I was happy for the company, she was quite adamant in demanding I keep my hands to myself and assist her with saving you_.” He shrugged. “ _I figured disappearing into the mountains would be a decent way to have my trail go cold while I decide what to do next. And a noble path, too_.”  

At that, Katrina frowned, all but ignoring the open admission that the elf had tried to sleep with her sister. “ _If the two of you intended to come down here and save me, wouldn’t it have made more sense to have someone else who would have actually known how to find their way come with you_?”

Zevran shrugged, holding his hands up. “ _I assumed she knew where we were going_.”

“ _I thought he was a good tracker_.” Amelia interjected.

“ _I kill people, not find them_.”

Cullen held up a hand, ignoring the way that Amelia looked ready to grip it and try to toss him over her shoulder. He almost wanted to see her try. “ _It would seem we have much catching up to do, yes? Perhaps we can slow this down_.”

Zevran shrugged, and dipped into a brief bow. “ _As you say…what was it? Thane_?”

“ _Sort of like a lord or a judge_ ,” Katrina offered, twining her arm around Cullen’s and lacing her fingers with his. Amelia scowled. “ _This, as I’m sure you’ve gathered, is Amelia Trevelyan of Starkhaven, my older sister, and this Zevran Arainai, formerly of the Crows_.” She seemed rather proud of that last bit, a part that escaped neither Cullen nor the elf.

Zevran nodded a little to the others as Katrina offered a few other introductions, though Amelia simply appraised them as though they were insects that required squashing.

Katrina perked up, eyes shining as she peered back up at Cullen, speaking in Avvar. “They can stay with us for a while, yes? I bet they could help with translating those journals.”

With a frown, Cullen inspected the other two. While he didn’t mind Katrina staying in his hold, he hadn’t intended for there to be Lowlanders running about everywhere. And these new two didn’t exactly seem as…

He couldn’t very well say well-tempered in comparison to Katrina—Hakkon’s frigid breath, but she and her sister were so alike, personality-wise and looks—but the truth of it was they weren’t her. He didn’t particularly want them in his hold, though when he turned back to Katrina, his stomach clenched. There was such hope glimmering in her eyes. Relief, joy, a million other emotions that she’d seemed to struggle toward before this moment.

It was beautiful.

How was it that almost every time he looked at her he fell a little further?

“I would not be so cruel as to cast your sister and…friend out into the wilderness,” Cullen finally offered. He could talk to her about sending them back to the Lowlands later tonight, when he had her to himself again.

Amelia had grown quiet—finally—though the way she appraised Cullen left him wondering if he might need to sleep with a dagger under his pillow for a few nights. When she spoke again, it was in that third language that Cullen didn’t know.

“ _For the love of_ …” Katrina rolled her eyes, leaning into Cullen more. “ _Would you please listen? No one’s keeping me against my will_.”

“ _So you’re saying if you wanted to leave right now, you could_?”

“ _Of course I could_ ,” Katrina shrugged. “ _I’d get hopelessly lost in the woods and get eaten by bears, probably, but I could leave_.”

Cullen took in a deep breath through his nose and then exhaled slowly. “Katrina, that doesn’t really make it sound like you have a choice.”  

“ _Ha_ ,” Amelia crossed her arms. “ _Even_ he’s _admitting it_.”

“ _You don’t even know what he said._ ”

“ _I could tell from his tone!_ ”

“There are no bears near the hold, Katrina,” Cullen said, trying not to smile, despite the bizarreness of the situation.

Katrina let out a soft huff. “Well the whole point of me leaving would be to get away from the hold, now wouldn’t it? If I’m not near the hold, then of course there’s going to be bears.”

As Cullen decided not to argue with that logic—there was enough chaos for the moment between Katrina and her sister, as Amelia had resumed arguing yet again—he glanced around to see that Branson had shown up and was standing beside Rosalie, eyes wide as he listening to them prattle on, no doubt unable to put together a single sentence that they’d spoken. By the Lady, Cullen could barely follow the two of them.

Rosalie seemed like she was doing a decent job, her gaze locked on the still arguing sisters as though doing her best to translate as they went. Her expression was less amused and more one of immense concentration.

Garrett and Fenris stood where he’d left them, though Fenris had moved over to Garrett to lean his head against his husband’s shoulder. His shoulders and ears were trembling, like he was trying not to laugh and fan the flames of Amelia’s disdain.

Katrina abruptly started what had to be swearing in that other language. It was the same one that Amelia had been trying to use earlier so that the Avvar couldn’t eavesdrop, clearly not realizing that all they really needed to do was speak quickly, and their words were lost on most everyone around them.

Finally, Amelia threw her hands into the air and then crossed them, scowling at nothing in particular as she held her head high and proud.

Cullen arched his brow, glancing down at Katrina. Without thinking, he slipped into Avvar. “What just happened?”

She replied in kind. “I told her that even if she wanted to paint you as some terrible brute, it wasn’t like we three could battle our way out of the hold, so she might as well get over it and stop wasting so much energy with her yelling and accusations.”

“You never said she had a temper like yours,” Cullen offered softly, his amusement tugging up on one corner of his lips, his smile pulling at his scar.

Katrina rolled her eyes, waving a hand dismissively. “She only gets like this when she doesn’t sleep well. Toss her a mattress for a few hours, and she’ll be half decent. Give her a night or two, and she’ll be back to curtseys and ‘thank you, sir’s.”

Amelia narrowed her eyes at Katrina’s tone. “ _I know you’re making fun of me. You’re telling him that stupid sleep thing, aren’t you?_ ”

“ _I won’t argue that it’s not stupid, but it’s also true. You’re not nearly as shrewish when you’ve gotten a decent rest_.”

“ _I’m also not nearly as ‘shrewish’ when my sister doesn’t get herself kidnapped!_ ”

“ _The Comte’s men were the ones who kidnapped me. Cullen is keeping me_ safe _from them. You’d think you could be a little grateful. Those Orlesian bastards wanted to frame the Avvar for my murder for some stupid reason. The Avvar have done nothing wrong_!”

Amelia sniffed indignantly, her arms still crossed firmly across her chest. She gave Cullen a sideways glance and finally shrugged. “ _I’m watching you_.”  

Garrett trotted over to them finally, inspecting the lot of them, that wide, unbearable grin in place. “ _Are we all friends, then?_ ”

“Don’t you patronize my sister,” Katrina warned.

Running his hand down his face, Cullen tilted his head back a moment and then looked back at the Lowlanders and his fellow thane. “ _The lot of you look like you could use some rest and a change of clothes. My people can provide you with what you need, and we can…figure out where to go from here after everyone has had a chance to settle in._ ”

Amelia was the last to agree to his terms, eyeing him resentfully, as though he’d just beaten her at some game he hadn’t known he was playing. Katrina offered to go with Rosalie to show their guests where they could stay for the duration of their—hopefully short—visit.

Cullen paused when Katrina came back after she’d started to leave with the others. Before she left, she leaned up on her toes to kiss him—which earned them a strangled screech from her sister—and then whispered, more than a little amused. “I told you the Lowlanders looking for me were lost.”

…-…

“You know. I am quite disappointed. I had always heard the Avvar were fairly good with rope. I had thought to see some impressive artistry when we were captured,” Zevran declared as he sat down on the bed that had been given to him. Katrina stood near the door with Amelia, who was teasing her damp hair. She’d been suspicious the second they’d brought her to the bathing pools, expecting the Avvar to be peeking down at her. Though Katrina had assured her it was not so, she’d stayed by her sister’s side, dutifully watching for peeping toms whilst Amelia bathed. When they were done, they’d headed to the building that Garrett and Fenris had stayed at before. It was a bit larger than most, with half a dozen rooms available, breaking off of a main commons area. Garrett and Fenris had taken the room in one corner, and Amelia and Zevran had each been given their own, not that Amelia seemed impressed.

She hadn’t wanted to talk in her room because it was at the end of the building, and she thought it would be easier for someone to eavesdrop. Even though Zevran’s room was along an outer wall as well, Amelia had been content to hole up here, instead.

Katrina had never seen her sister this paranoid.

At Zevran’s joke about the ropes, Amelia rubbed her wrists with contempt. “If they were bringing us here without the intent of killing us or keeping us locked away, I don’t see why they couldn’t have told us you were here and safe.”

“Garrett’s a bit of a prig,” Katrina offered with a light shrug. She reached out and ran her fingers over Amelia’s skin, frowning to see that it was a bit raw. “Do you want me to find the augur? He could heal you.”

“No need. I’ve been through worse,” Amelia muttered.

Those words stung more than Katrina had expected such a thing to. She lowered her gaze to her hands, fidgeting a little. “I’m sorry.”

Amelia blinked, looking up at Katrina. “For what?”

“I didn’t help you when I could have.” Katrina shrugged a little, abruptly wishing Cullen was there to wrap his arms around her. He had a way about him. No matter what, he could make her feel safe. She hadn’t realized she’d come to rely on him so much until they were separated, albeit by a dozen or so yards at most. “When you became distant, I didn’t think there could be a good reason. I just let myself believe you’d grown tired of me.”

“It’s what I wanted you to think,” Amelia said, shrugging. “I didn’t want you involved with the Comte. I thought…if I left and never looked back, then it would be fine. There was no way they’d try to match you as a replacement for me. The Comte would have to look elsewhere for a new wife, the family would be free of him, and I’d be free, too.” She paused, letting out a half laugh. “Of course you couldn’t leave well enough alone, though. I was in a port off Ferelden when I heard that you’d gone to the empress herself with my findings.”

“It wasn’t right that you would have to had to run away to find your freedom.”

“Perhaps not, but…” Amelia hesitated, gaze drifting as a faint smile settled on her features. “Things worked out for me. I wouldn’t change any of it, now…” At that, she frowned, gaze snapping back to Katrina. “Except for the part where my baby sister goes running off to slay _my_ demons.”

“I couldn’t even do that,” Katrina muttered, slumping down onto Zevran’s bed. Amelia sat between them.

“What are you talking about?”

“What I did didn’t even matter in the end,” Katrina muttered. The memories of the night the Comte had cornered her, of her taking out his eye with the letter opener and running, of getting caught by his men all came flooding back. “The empress said she’d do something, but—”

“She did,” Zevran interjected, leaning forward so that he could see Katrina clearly. “The Comte was hung for his crimes. Publically. He is dead.”

Katrina blinked. Once. Twice.

The Comte de Forseau was dead?

All this time, she had feared leaving the Lions’ hold, feared going to confront the bastard who had hurt her sister, who had made her flee…and he had already been brought to justice?

While a part of her felt that she ought to be relieved by such news—part of her whispered that she might not even need to leave Cullen’s side once the journals had been translated now—she couldn’t find that peace. Katrina shook her head, anger flickering in her gut, instead.

Zevran reached out and patted her hand. “More than that, the people of Orlais fell in love with the innocent little Free Marcher who risked title and home to bring justice to the wicked. When you went missing, rumors flew. When they found evidence that the Avvar had harmed you, there was outrage.”

At that, that rage inside of her…it didn’t go out, but it did shift. It paused, as though waiting for proper direction. “What?”

“According to the rumors,” Amelia said, shifting a little in her seat, “you had heard that I was in Ferelden and had decided to come let me know that the empress was going to move to have me reinstated into the family.”

“She is not _our_ empress. She’s no power to do thus,” Katrina snapped.

Amelia sighed, reaching out and looping her arm with Katrina’s. She drew her sister in close and then leaned her head against Katrina’s. “She could have pressured our father, sort of how she did to make sure he didn’t disown you.”

Katrina’s world stalled. “I’m sorry?”

“You thought you were abandoned, didn’t you?” Amelia straightened up, reaching out to brush her fingers across Katrina’s cheek. “It’s no wonder you would try to make the best of a miserable situation out here, if you thought you had no home to go back to.”

“I…that’s not what happened,” Katrina tried to insist.

Amelia waved her hand. “Katrina, listen. All of Orlais stands behind you. We will get you back to civilization, and for once you will be the belle of the ball.”

Katrina could not find the words to say much of anything. Amelia, her beloved, cast aside sister, had dared the cold dangers of the south just to save her and…send her right back into a life she had never felt comfortable in? How could she explain that in a way that would not injure Amelia, or make her feel like she’d wasted her time and endangered her own safety for nothing.

“So…you came all the way out here planning that we would go home together?”

“I…” Amelia sucked in a slow breath and held it a moment before letting it out. “No.”

“No?” Katrina echoed.

“I will not be returning to Starkhaven,” Amelia said, somewhat indelicately. It seemed she had let her years of tact slip in the time that they’d been apart. “I have no interest in rejoining the Trevelyan family.”

Katrina felt like she’d been slapped. Shifting out of her sister’s grasp so that she could face her fully, she shook her head. “No? I did all of this for you! You had to give up everything because of that bastard! You didn’t deserve to be written off as you were!”

“Did you ever consider I wanted to be written off?” Amelia asked, peering up at her, exasperated. “Katrina, the night I left, I really did mean to just go for a walk. I found my way down to a tavern and…I did what I thought you’d do. I just wanted to be carefree for a few simple hours. Then this fool,” she thwacked Zevran on the arm, “mistook me for you for a second. He figured it out quickly, but then he decided that he would be my guide to the underworld, as a courtesy to you.”

As she spoke, Zevran offered them a mock bow. “It was a pleasure, my lovely lady.”

“At the end of the night, he asked if I wanted him to take me home and I…” She hesitated. “The next thing I knew, I’d traded my necklace for passage down to Kirkwall, of all places.” She paused and shook her head. “It really is as bad as mother says.”

When Katrina didn’t offer some light-hearted quip, Amelia sighed. “I heard the rumors that people thought I’d been kidnapped or was dead in a ditch, and I…I felt free. Suddenly, it didn’t matter if my hair was tangled or if there was a bit of mud on my skirts. It didn’t matter if I tripped in front of someone. Everyone trips.” She scowled. “I don’t see why it’s some great embarrassment in court to get a heel caught on a rug.”

Katrina shifted a little, shrugging. “I never got that either.”

“I know,” Amelia looked back at her, an understanding, affectionate look in place. “You never cared what anyone thought. You were always such a free spirit. I always wanted to help you with those silly pranks and mishaps, but I was too afraid to step outside of what was expected of me.”

“Well, it’s easy to do what you oughtn’t to when everyone’s already given up on you doing what you ought to. I mean, the only thing mother expected of me was that I’d be second to you no matter what, so there wasn’t much reason to disappoint her.” Katrina shrugged.

Amelia looked almost wounded at her words, and Katrina wished she could take them back. However, her sister simply shook her head. “I met someone, down in Kirkwall. She’s quite something really. I was almost ready to go back, to re-shackle myself to my responsibilities, when she got ahold of me. I told her my woes over a pint of _the_ most awful ale I’ve ever tasted—”

“ _You’ve_ tasted ale.”

“I have.” Amelia’s smile flickered across her lips.

It was the first time Katrina had seen her smile in almost a year and a half, and it twisted something inside of her.

Amelia kept talking. “She told me that people had a way of moving on, and that I sounded like I needed to do something for myself for once in my life. She was right. So I ran away with her.”

“To Ferelden.”

“We’ve…traveled, Isabela and I,” Amelia offered, seemingly a little reserved with giving out details. “We were planning to go all the way to the Imperium when I got word that you’d been…lost to mountain men.”

“Killed is what the rumors say, technically,” Zevran pointed out. “Assuming, of course, you are not of a mind to listen to the ones saying you are now a sex slave to some barbarian.”

Amelia rolled her eyes, bristling at the mention of the rumors. “I knew how it is with you; you’d stumble into a faerie ring or some weird cultural loophole where they couldn’t kill you. You’ve always been like that. Your luck is the strangest I’ve ever seen.”

“Perhaps it’s less luck and more the Gods guiding me to where I needed to be,” Katrina offered.

“Gods? Plural?” Amelia arched her eyebrows. She looked ready to launch into a speech, but stopped herself. “I suppose I don’t do the Maker’s will much these days, so I’ve hardly room to lecture.”

“I’ve met a God.”

“And _that_ makes me ready to lecture.”

With a laugh, Katrina decided not to tell Amelia about Cole. “We’re a bit of a mess aren’t we? I got kidnapped by Orlesians trying to save you, and you got kidnapped by Avvar trying to save me.”

“And neither of you even wish to go home,” Zevran added. He’d laid out on his bed, content to let the ladies speak, for the most part. “It is fortunate that the two of you are so easy on the eyes—and that I am trying to avoid my murderers—or I might be put out by this little adventure.”

As quiet began to settle over the three of them, Katrina finally shook her head. “I wish the empress had acted a little swifter with her justice.”

“The Comte de Forseau was hung the day after you handed over your—my evidence,” Amelia objected.

“Then how was it his men were the ones who chased me for a week and dragged me out here?”

This time, silence did descend as neither Amelia nor Zevran seemed to have an answer.

They sat there a long, painstaking moment before Katrina shifted, uncomfortable. “You said that the rumors say the Avvar killed me?”

“Mmhm,” Zevran hummed, his hands behind his head. “It has much of the Orlesian court up in arms. ‘Something must be done to quell the barbarians’ savage nature.’ That they would attack a poor, innocent dear such as yourself is just mortifying to all of them, I’m sure.”

Katrina could picture their over the top arguments, their dramatic stands, all the unnecessary pomp and circumstance that went with their court. “But my point… you say there is a growing group who wishes to move against the Avvar?”

“Yes,” Amelia nodded. “Everyone thought that Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons would take advantage of the outrage to push for military movements against the Avvar, as a way to win favor with the court—since it is rumored that he is seeking the throne, himself.”

Katrina’s blood slowly started to drain from her face as she imagined what that might mean for the Avvar clans near Orlais. For Cullen and his people.

Amelia shrugged. “The empress was ready to defend that the Avvar attacking one carriage, as tragic as it is, is hardly grounds for wiping out their people, but with the Grand Duke failing to incite incense in the people, those who wish to see your attackers brought to justice are forced to turn to the empress herself.”

“Amelia,” Katrina began, the wheels in her mind working slowly. “Would you look at some journals for me? They were in the carriage that was supposed to be destroyed by Avvar. They detail someone’s dealings with both the Avvar and the nobility of Orlais and possibly other countries. I’ve never been good at keeping up with court gossip, but you…” She trailed off before adding, “I think whoever it is was the one behind my kidnapping and attempted assassination.”

“You think the Orlesians seek to use you as some pawn?” Amelia asked, brow dipping down at the thought.

With a small, heartless chuckle, Katrina shook her head. “It is a long story, dear sister.”


	23. Certainty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is NSFW. 
> 
> Thank you again to creepypasta-queen- for beta reading!

“Korth’s teeth, Cole!” Katrina exclaimed as she stepped into her room—the one filled with books—and nearly walked into the odd young man. He didn’t move from his spot, instead blinking owlishly at her. While she liked him alright, his appearances could be a little disconcerting.

Especially lately.

She almost felt like he’d been avoiding her, though that made not a lick of sense.

Memories of yelling at someone about leaving mountains be tried to bubble up, and she shifted her weight. She had promised someone—a friend of Cole’s—that she would bring justice to the Comte, and yet it had already been done. Perhaps they were angry that they had offered her their aid when it wasn’t to any actual end?

“No.”

“What?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Cole replied simply. “You don’t hurt like you used to, so you don’t need so much help.” At that, he lifted his arms just slightly. Half a dozen books were rather sloppily gathered within them, and two were precariously close to tipping out of his grasp and plummeting to the floor.

She grabbed those first, stacking them neatly in her own arms. It took her another moment and a few blinks from her Godly helper before it dawned on her what these were. “You got the journals from Morrigan?”

“Yes.”

It had been two days since she had asked him to do that, and she’d honestly forgotten about it almost completely. She had been preoccupied with catching up with Amelia and Zevran, and trying to make sure to tell them everything. Cullen had suggested they not go wandering all about the hold for now, which made sense to Katrina, and so they’d mostly stayed in the guest housing.

Cullen had been busy with Garrett and Fenris, as well, so she hadn’t seen much of him, not even at night. Amelia had all but demanded that Katrina stay with her, and she’d acquiesced her demands, just glad to be near her dear sister after so long. Of everyone in the world, Amelia was possibly the only person she’d ever conceded almost every point, fight, and demand to.

“It made sense then; there was no one else who ever saw a reason to stand with you, so you stood with her,” Cole murmured, shifting the last few books in his arms into a more manageable stack and then leading Katrina out into the hall.

Katrina frowned as she followed the God. “That’s not true. I’ve had plenty of people in my corner. Zevran, for instance. And there were others.”

Dear, dear Zevran. Years ago, Katrina had been foolish enough to go out drinking with an acquaintance at one of the less reputable establishments in Starkhaven. As the evening progressed, her friend had found a lady to take home and had left her there, by herself, barely seventeen. When a few unscrupulous individuals had started to eye her, she’d decided it was time to head home.

However, said not-so-gentle-men had followed her.

In no time, she’d been running through the streets, terrified. Finally, she’d tried to hide in an alley to escape them. It was a good plan in theory, except that as drunk as she was, she hadn’t been the subtlest of creatures when she’d turned off the main road. Even as they’d come for her, she’d stumbled back into groping arms. Terrified, she’d shoved the newest assailant away from her and into something sharp.

That something turned out to be held by a groggy, concussed Zevran, who—despite his cumbersome headache and the way the world kept tilting one way and then the other—had proved more than capable of handling her would be assaulters.

When the dust had settled, he’d turned around, offered her a flourished bow, and kissed her hand. “Tell me. What is so lovely a lady doing out here in such a…” His concussion had kept him from finishing his flirt, and his legs had given out from under him, sending him plummeting to the ground and into Katrina’s arms.

Katrina had helped him to the nearest Chantry, where she’d insisted he was a bodyguard when the Sisters gave him suspicious looks.

She’d come back to see him the next day to find that he’d left when the Sisters weren’t paying attention. It had been appalling how little the Sisters had cared that he was missing.

The next time she’d seen him had been in her room, almost two weeks later. He’d come by to offer his thanks and warn her that there was talk of a hit on her father. Nothing concrete yet, of course. She’d warned Gregory of some rumor against their father, and it had been taken care of before the target was ever drawn on his back.

From there, they’d had an odd friendship. Whenever he was in town, she’d let him crash in her room, and they would spend the night regaling one another with tales of idiocy and adventure. He’d freely admitted that he was a Crow. He was always just vague enough with the details that she couldn’t be sure if he was making it up or if some bizarre turn of events that he had described had actually happened.

The fact that she’d slowed a target and actually shoved the man onto one of Zevran’s daggers when the assassin had been too injured to chase him down properly did seem to lend credit to his other stories. He had an odd sort of luck about him.

Or perhaps just a God watching over him.

“ _Passing friends and blessed acceptance. So why do I still hear, ‘What if? What if?’_ ”

“Fair enough,” Katrina muttered when Cole pointed out that aside from Zevran, most of her friendships had been fleeting or under constant suspicion.

So she hadn’t exactly trusted most of her friends. It wasn’t that she thought they’d necessarily turn on her. It was just that many of them had found interest in her because she was nobility, and she wasn’t always sure if they would have tolerated her antics if she had lacked that precious, noble blood.

Save for Zevran. He’d learned of her nobility later and had been more than amused to have met her as he had.

She was glad that he was here now.

Cole had stopped in the hall, watching her expectantly—or perhaps he was just content to listen in on her thoughts and amble through the memories of a world foreign to him—and he was blocking the way out of Cullen’s home.

Katrina had been planning to gather more of the journals that they’d been ignoring for the past few months—there were a decent number of them, to be honest, possibly even more journals details dealings with nobles than with the Avvar—so that they could keep their momentum going in figuring out who the noble moving against the Avvar might be.

As she’d suspected, Amelia knew almost every noble involved thus far—and Zevran knew of many that she didn’t, as he’d been sent to assassinate a dozen or so of their family members throughout the years. Neither had read far into the journals so far, instead mapping out which nobles were being blackmailed and then writing down possible enemies that the group might have in common. Slowly, their lists were getting smaller.

Morrigan was quite impressed.

She had deemed Amelia worthy of idle conversation already, as well.

Katrina wasn’t sure why that bothered her as much as it did. At least Morrigan held the same disinterest she afforded Katrina for Zevran. It left her and her elven companion to gossip idly in one corner in Antivan. Granted, Amelia could understand what they were saying, and constantly interrupted their quips with stern glares, or simply walked over and plopped down next to Katrina just to be near her.

She didn’t mind the latter, though it did make it harder to make disparaging remarks about anyone when Amelia was right there, ready to chastise her.

She’d missed her sister’s nagging, truth be told.

Even as Cole finally turned and started toward the entrance to Cullen’s home, the door swung open, and Cullen swept in. Sweat glistened on his bare skin, and his curls were damp and clinging to him as well. His gaze snapped up when he realized he wasn’t alone. He perked up when he saw Katrina, though Cole interrupted whatever he was going to say by handing him the rest of the books.

“Here.”

And then the God was gone again.

The two of them stood a little awkwardly, their arms full. Finally, Cullen turned back toward the door, nodding with his head. “Did you need these taken back to the guest housing?”

“Ah, no.” Katrina took a tentative step toward him, shifting her books so that she had a free hand to reach toward him. “These are…” Should she tell him that Morrigan had been hiding them? If there was nothing too dire in them, then it made no sense for her to start a witch hunt over them. “I thought I could read a few with you?”

“Katrina…” Cullen’s brow furrowed. She felt stupid. Of course he couldn’t read the damned books. Why had she even…? “You can keep them in my room.” He said abruptly, walking toward the back of his home. He brushed close enough to her that their arms just barely brushed against one another’s.

Before Katrina knew what she was doing, she’d followed him back to his room. Cullen set the books aside on a small chest he kept his clothes in. Katrina had barely set her own stack beside his when his arms were around her, lifting her off the ground as his lips crashed against hers.

She reacted in kind, arms wrapping around his neck and legs around his waist as she pulled herself closer to him. Katrina tilted her head, molding her lips to his every kiss. One of his hands slid down to grip her rear and pull her closer still.

She didn’t even realize he’d been pulling her clothes off until she was lying naked on the bed, with him on top of her. The stubble on his jaw scraped against her neck as he kissed and nipped her skin. She let out a low moan, her legs squeezing around his waist. He was already hard, and his length pressed against her stomach, stirring a warmth inside of her.

While they were hardly always gentle with one another, today felt different. There was a neediness to his touch, to the way he held her and kissed her, as though he was afraid he might forget the feel of her against him.

His need was infectious, and quickly, Katrina found herself gripping him with that same desperation. Her fingers raked over his skin, leaving marks, and she rocked her hips against him in time with his own rutting.

“I want you,” he managed to whisper, his voice huskier than usual. He crushed his mouth against hers, their teeth clacking together.

When they pulled apart for breath, she couldn’t find her voice. Instead, she caught his face in her hands and simply nodded to him, her hair already in wild tangles across the bed around them. She dragged him back to her as he grinned.

When he found she was already wet in anticipation, he used one hand to angle himself and then thrust into her. She let out a cry, her nails digging deeper into his skin. He panted against her neck, thrusting again and again. She met him with a sharp rock of her hips, their rhythm coming together, primal and fierce.

He met her cries and gasps with moans and growls of his own. When he finally brought her over the edge, her world enveloped in brilliant white, and she arched into him.

He followed soon after. When they were both spent, he lay on top of her, one hand clasping hers, fingers laced and palms pressed against one another. The other was still fisted in his bedsheets. He loosened his grip slowly as their breathing evened out. Finally, he pressed a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth and then pushed himself up so that he could lay beside her.

Stretching, Katrina rolled onto her stomach, reaching up and tugging a pillow down so that she could rest against it.

Cullen ran his hand down her back, and she shivered at his touch. It was too ‘hot’ for them to be intertwined, and so they simply lay beside one another, enjoying each other’s presence. He trailed light patterns across her, eyes closed. She reached out and ran her fingers across his cheek. He playfully nipped one of her fingers when she drew her hand away.

“I don’t know if I can let you go back to the Lowlands,” he whispered.

Katrina shifted a little closer to him. “Oh?”

“I can barely make it two days without you. How will I survive months?”

She smiled against her pillow, pulling her hand away to tuck it underneath the fabric. While he might complain it was too hot, she was just fine. She lightly waved her feet through the air above her, surprised at how his admission had sent butterflies flitting about in her stomach.

At length, his hand slid across her back and then he was resting on top of her, kissing her shoulders and neck. “Do you need to go back to the Lowlands? Amelia is clearly in no danger.”

“I haven’t even told you, have I?” Katrina asked, abruptly remembering that she really hadn’t seen much of him these last two days. “The Comte de Forseau is dead.”

Cullen stilled. His next kiss was more fervent.

Katrina had been planning how to explain what they had found thus far to him when his ministrations became considerably more affectionate. Her mind blanked as little trills of pleasure washed through her.

However, when his hand slid down her side, over her hip and then started to dip between her legs, she forced herself to concentrate, reaching down and stopping him before he could shatter her thought process for the next hour. “Cullen, the noble after the Avvar is entangled with… they’re trying to get the Orlesian military to move against the clans near Orlais. We think.”

Cullen withdrew at that, sitting up on his bed and running his hand through his hair. He looked like he needed his afternoon rest, despite having been apparently ready to forgo it in favor of sex. “Do you know who it is yet?”

“No, that’s what we’ve been working on.” Katrina perked up. She sat up beside him, resting her hand on top of his. He flipped his hand so that he could hold hers as she kept talking. “Amelia knows nobility like no one else, I swear. She’s working out who could be plotting like this, via which people are their enemies. It does mean we have to look through the journals we were going to ignore, though.”

Cullen watched her, expression reserved.

Leaning over, she lightly bit his shoulder. “It might take a few weeks, is what I’m saying.”

“I see,” Cullen murmured, though he did loop his arm around her and drag her closer, his lips skimming her collarbone. “And those books we brought in here are a part of that?”

“Ah, no—” Katrina’s voice cut off as a light moan escaped her. “They’re…” His hands were on her hips, thumbs gently rubbing circles against her skin. She took in a breath, trying to concentrate. She’d wanted to say this tactfully. His lips wandered lower to her breasts. Her breath hitched, and she let out a soft cry. There was a reason she’d wanted to be reserved about what those journals were, though she couldn’t remember for the life of her why that mattered. “Those are the journals that deal with the Lions and Wolves.”

Abruptly he was sitting up again, much to her chagrin. His brow furrowed as he turned back toward those six journals. “Those detail what’s happened with the Lions?” He hesitated. “You mean they _have_ done things to my clan?”

“I don’t exactly know yet,” Katrina confessed, clarity hitting her rather hard. She shouldn’t have brought it up when she wasn’t sure. “I haven’t read them.”

“Then how would you know…” Cullen turned back toward her and then paused. “Cole found them for you?”

“Yes.”

“Did he say where he got them?” Cullen sounded more irritated that angry. Before Katrina could offer that technically the God hadn’t said anything to that end—especially considering she’d been the one to tell him where to get them from—Cullen shook his head. “I’ve been wondering why you hadn’t found anything about our clan. I was hoping that we just hadn’t been involved in any of this…but I had a feeling we wouldn’t be so fortunate.”

“Well, maybe they’re mostly about the Wolves. Like I said, I haven’t read them yet.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to bring them to the others?” Cullen paused, eyes narrowing. “Was Morrigan hiding these?”

“Cole didn’t say where he got them from,” Katrina defended, though she couldn’t quite place why. It wasn’t as though Morrigan had ever impressed her much, but then, she still didn’t deserve to get strung up for no reason, as Rosalie’s warning had implied to be a real possibility.

The look Cullen gave her said he was clearly not falling for whatever ruse she was trying to pull. He reached up and ran his hand against her neck, cradling the back of her head. “You will get to these soon?”

“I can start tonight,” Katrina promised, catching his other hand and lacing their fingers so that their palms pressed against each other.

“If you can make it away from your sister,” Cullen muttered.

At that, Katrina arched her eyebrows. “I haven’t seen Amelia in…forever, Cullen. Surely you can understand why I would want to be around her.”

He groaned, wrapping his arms around her and then flopping back down onto the bed, dragging her down with him. “I did not mean anything by it.”

Katrina tried to bite the giggle that rose in her throat as a thought abruptly struck her. “Are you jealous?”

“What?” Cullen leaned back, appraising her with a frown in place. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Her eyes widened, and she lightly thwacked his arm. “You are! You’re jealous of my damned sister!” Even as he tried to protest, she snuggled closer to him, kissing him. His protests died as he met her kisses with that same fervor from earlier, rolling her onto her back and shifting so that he rested between her legs. She couldn’t help but laugh when they broke apart. She ran her fingers through his hair. “You don’t need to be, you know. She may want to ship me back to Starkhaven, but that won’t be happening.”

“You could have told me she was your twin,” he mumbled as he nestled his face against the crook of her neck.

“I did so mention that,” Katrina cried out, trying to twist so that she could see his face.

He kept his head tucked down, though she could feel his smile. “You didn’t. You just said she was your sister. My heart almost stopped when I saw her.”

“What? No,” Katrina gasped, wrapping her arms tightly around him. “I’m quite sure I told you.”

“I’m quite sure you didn’t,” he teased, pressing an open mouthed kiss to her neck.

“Well, my dear thane, if you want to have another tumble, you’d best drop it.”

“Should I now?”

Katrina nipped his ear. “I’m not going to have sex while thinking about my sister. That’s just…ugh.”

Cullen rolled off of her, laughing.  It was deep and rich. He brought his hands up to cover his face, his chest rising and falling quickly with that musical sound. Katrina slipped closer to him until she was leaning over him. She pressed a quick kiss to his chest, running her hand down across his muscles and lower. His laughter subsided in a sharp moan as her fingers closed around his manhood.

“Do you think we can change the subject?”

“Yes, my lady,” he gasped, slinging one arm over his eyes and reaching down with the other to encircle her waist as she moved her hand in gentle yet firm strokes up and down his length.

Just as he thrust his hips into her grasp, his breath shuddering through him, a voice interrupted them.

“ _Katrina? Maker’s flaming Bride, did the books topple over on you? You’ve been gone over an hour_ …”

Eyes widening, Katrina bit down on her lip to keep herself from gasping that her sister was just down the hall from them. Were it not for the curtain in the thane’s doorway, she would see them. And if she paused for a second, she would surely hear them.

Even as Katrina moved to retrieve her shirt from the floor, Cullen caught her around the waist, pulling her close and holding a finger to his lips. His breathing was considerably more labored than hers—and his patience thin, no doubt, as she felt him twitch against her hip—yet he’d managed to quiet down surprisingly fast.

The two of them waited.

“ _Katrina_?” Amelia’s voice was closer this time, likely outside of the room where the books were. Footsteps, a huffed breath. “ _Maker, where has she gotten off to_?”

 _Lady, let her just grab the books she needs and go_ , Katrina thought, though she did stretch off the edge of the bed, reaching across the floor with her toes to try to grab some article of clothing, lest her sister prove too curious.

“ _Honestly_?” Morrigan’s voice answered, sounding a bit exasperated and like she was in the room with the books. “ _I’d wager the thane has made off with her to some quiet corner. They do so enjoy one another’s company. Rather loudly, I might add._ ”

Katrina froze, fingers just barely clasped around the hem of something that was still partially caught around her toes. All this time, and it had never occurred to her that Morrigan slept one room over from them. She’d certainly never mentioned it.

“ _They what_?” Amelia’s voice had a dangerous edge to it. “ _Katrina is not some harlot_.”

“ _If it helps, he treats her well_ ,” Morrigan muttered. She could hear the sounds of books being rummaged through and shifted around. “ _I doubt he would have the heart to try to make her do anything against her will. And even if he did, she wouldn’t let him. She has him, as you Lowlanders say, at her beck and call_.”

More shuffling, more movement. Amelia’s voice was in the hall again. “ _Is she… do you think she’s really happy here_?”

“ _Have you not taken the time to ask her yourself_?”

“ _I…she always tries to be stronger than she is_ ,” Amelia murmured. Her voice was getting softer as her footsteps carried her further from Katrina.

“ _I think she is quite content here. She is well loved and looked after_.”

Amelia’s response, be it relief or further question, was too far from Cullen’s room for them to hear. The door to his home opened and then closed, leaving Katrina and Cullen sitting in silence.

Finally, Katrina glanced over her shoulder at Cullen, arching her eyebrows. “We’re not that loud, are we?”

Cullen stared back at her, lips quivering as he tried not to break out into a smile. “That was the part that concerned you?” Even as Katrina rolled her eyes, he plucked his kilt from her hands and tossed it back onto the floor. “You’re louder than I am.”

“No.” Katrina turned to face him. “Really?”

He leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose gingerly. “Does it matter? I love every sound you make.”

With a little bit of a shrug, she let her gaze wander over him, down from his eyes, over his well-toned body and to his erection. “You just don’t want me to leave things _unfinished_.”

He pulled her into his lap, trailing kisses down her jaw and neck. “There is that.”

When she thwacked his arm, he let out a soft, low laugh, his breath warm against her skin. She leaned forward to kiss his neck. “Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

…-…

Cullen was restless. While this afternoon had certainly helped to alleviate some of his nerves, he couldn’t stop thinking about how Katrina had disappeared on him. Only two days ago he’d been proud that she remembered that a woman’s loyalty was to her hold, and then her sister had shown up.

Katrina’s loyalty did not feel as clear as he would have liked. While, yes, she was certainly fond of his company, he couldn’t help but worry that if she had to choose between himself and Amelia, he wouldn’t like the result.

After all, Katrina had already chosen Amelia over the rest of her family, over herself.

Even when she’d talked about her sister, Cullen had never really thought that he would meet her. The way Katrina had talked, he’d sort of expected Amelia to be gone, that she would never be around to interfere with their relationship.

And yet here she was, in his hold, stealing all of his lady’s time.

Well, most of it.

Thinking back to this afternoon made a wave of short-lived contentment wash through him.

She’d laughed at the thought of him being jealous of Amelia. He wasn’t really jealous, though, he didn’t think. He was more…concerned.

Yes, he was worried. Worried that Katrina would not be as adaptable as he’d hoped, worried that she would chose her family over her hold.

Though…he had offered her to be a part of the hold. She understood that was his offer, didn’t she? Not just to stay as a guest, but to be a _part_ of the hold. To be his.

He would talk to her. Tonight.

That was likely a few hours off, however.

He’d spent the last two days in talks with Garrett and Fenris, as well. He’d been partially curious to see if the elf would want to spend more of his time with the other Lowlanders, but Fenris didn’t seem to have any real connection to them, nor any desire to learn what had happened in the northern world since he’d left it.

There were talks of clans being attacked along the western side of the mountains. In other words, the clans that bordered Orlais. With Katrina’s admittance that the noble was trying to incite something against the Avvar, it looked like it had already started.

Cullen had asked if that meant Garrett planned on moving his people again, and he had just laughed and clapped a hand on Cullen’s shoulder in an overly familiar way, promising they would be neighbors for a good, long while.

However, Cullen couldn’t help but wonder just how far into the mountains the Orlesians planned on marching. While he was not one to flee a fight, he also knew to avoid one if it was unnecessary. There was no honor in having a life taken when there was no need to draw a blade to begin with.

Perhaps his people needed to move.

It didn’t sit well with him, considering that they’d been in this place so long. While they knew nothing was permanent, the prospect of having to leave behind what had always been his home was daunting, and having to lead his people through such a move would be even harder.

He wanted to know more about this noble’s power. How far did their reach extend? Were there really so many clans being attacked at the moment? Or was it just a few, with stories being changed upon retelling until it came out to ridiculous numbers?

Cullen had already sent scouts to a few other clans to find out, had already re-inspected his hold’s defenses. It needed to be harder to get in. Of that, he was sure. They could add a foot or so to the walls perhaps. Set traps to keep people from making it over.

Cassandra was overseeing such things, with her husband, Galyan, looking into possible enchantments that would make such defenses even more dangerous for encroaching enemies.

There was much that needed to be done, but very little for _him_ to do _now_.

Hence the restlessness.

There weren’t even any squabbles among his people for him to pass judgment on. These were the sorts of hours that he would normally head off to find Katrina and lure her away from her reading to spend time with him.

While he shouldn’t have, he liked drawing her attention away from those books. It meant that she would be with him longer before heading down to the Lowlands.

Cullen supposed that was the one good thing with the forgone journals being relevant again.

Though, with Amelia and Zevran piecing things together, even that would end sooner than later, wouldn’t it?

Cullen had gone back to his home so that his need to pace wouldn’t stir unease amidst his people, and his mind abruptly wandered to the books that Katrina had brought into his room. The ones that Cole thought involved Cullen’s clan.

His ability to read and write was not anything substantial. However, he did know the Lowlands’ letters and could piece together some words. His mother had always thought it important to be able to communicate with the Lowlanders using methods they deemed important, should they ever cross paths. After she’d died, he hadn’t found an interest in it.

That had disappointed Rosalie to no end, especially when Branson and Mia had been of the same mind. She’d never asked their father; he hurt too much even thinking about the way they’d lost their mother.

Walking back to his room, he eyed the two stacks of books. Slowly, he crossed the floor to them and picked one up. He opened it to the first page and stared blankly at the letters scrawled across the paper. Just looking at them created a dull pressure in the back of his head, a warning of a headache to come. However, he’d be damned if he just sat around idle.

Walking back out of his home to sit on one of the boulders near it so that he could take advantage of the natural light, he began to inspect the page, slowly piecing together the different words and sounding them out in his head, trying to think if he understood any of them.

Aside from ‘the’ and ‘of’ and a few simpler words, not much stood out to him.

With a sigh, he shut the book, resting it on his knee and staring out across what he could see of his hold.

He headed back in to toss the book on his bed and then let his feet carry him where they would. Of course he ended up in the guest quarters. The commons room was empty, but he could hear voices coming from one of the rooms. The curtain was open, surprisingly enough, and as he approached he could see Zevran with his back against the far wall.

Rosalie sat next to him, their shoulders touching.

Cullen’s eyes were narrowed as he stepped through the doorway, though if the elf took notice, he hid it well, instead merely turning a brilliant smile toward him. “ _Thane Magicsbane! It is a pleasure to see you again, looking as handsome as ever_.”

Before he could think of a response—surely Zevran wasn’t actually flirting with him—fingers were lacing with his, and drawing him over to the wall opposite the bed. Amelia and Morrigan were already seated a bit further from the door, and Katrina plopped down beside Amelia, pulling Cullen down with her. He settled in with his back against the adjacent wall, just beside the doorway. Katrina seemed content with his proximity, as she released his hand and picked up a book that had quite clearly been dropped. He hadn’t even heard it fall.

Amelia was glaring daggers again. It was a good thing she hadn’t any magical aptitude, or he’d have probably been on fire by now. However, rather than declare war, she simply lifted her head, chin sticking out a bit further than usual. “ _Are you here to help us read_?”

“ _No_ ,” Cullen replied, frowning when she immediately scowled. “ _I was hoping I might get an update on what you’ve found_.”

“ _I thought Katrina already filled you in. Earlier_.” The last word seemed to be meant to imply that she knew he’d had his hands all over her sister and that Amelia in no way approved.

Cullen returned her stare with one that all but admitted the things he’d done with Katrina, and an intent to continue to do so.

Katrina was blissfully ignorant of it all, her head bowed down as she skimmed the pages in front of her. Without thinking, she extender her legs so that they crossed over Cullen’s, and he had to bite back a laugh at the look of pure horror and rage that settled onto Amelia’s face. Perhaps they were not nearly as similar as he’d first thought they might be. “ _I’m afraid we aren’t much further along_.” Katrina finally looked up at him. “ _Amelia and Zevran managed to cross off another name or two, but we still haven’t figured out who it actually is who’s behind all this_.”

“ _Are you reading up on the nobles, as well_?” Cullen asked, head cocked.

Katrina shook hers. “ _No. Morrigan and I are finishing with the last few for the Avvar dealings. We hope to be done by the end of next week_.”

“ _We can likely be through our part by then, as well_ ,” Amelia quickly added, her voice a strain as she tried to stay civil. “ _After all, you don’t need those details, just the names_.”

For some reason, Cullen didn’t like the way she’d said that. He swallowed any biting retorts that maybe he was interested in what foolishness went on in the Lowlands and shrugged. “ _Good. Better to be done with this mess_.”

“ _I agree_.” Amelia pointedly flipped the page in her book before looking back down. “ _Now then, lest you have other questions, I do believe we are all rather busy_.”

“ _Lest you wish to find yourself wrestling bears outside of the hold, you’ll watch your tone_ ,” Cullen replied, crossing his arms. As Amelia’s gaze snapped back toward him, he quirked a brow. “ _I do not pretend to know how your Lowlands work, but here, you will show me respect or you will find my hospitality expended_.”

“ _I do like a man who knows when to put his foot down_ ,” Zevran declared. Rosalie rolled her eyes, drawing her legs up to herself and wrapping her arms around her knees. Zevran grinned and added, “ _A lady, too, of course._ ”

Even as Rosalie muttered something about how he should go back to reading, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind one of her ears as a slight flush reddened her cheeks, Amelia tapped her nails sharply against her book. Katrina was the one to speak. “ _You shouldn’t test him. He’ll do it_.”

That seemed to take both him and her sister aback. However, even as he felt a small swell of affection bubble up in his chest, Amelia straightened up, eyes locked on Cullen. “ _What are your intentions toward my sister?_ ”

That threw him. Katrina, too. “ _What_?”

“ _Your intentions_ ,” Amelia repeated. “ _What do you intend to do with my sister? I am told nothing is set in your culture. So how long will it be before you grow tired of her? How long until you seek a proper wife, and she is left trapped in your hold, with no way back to the Lowlands_?”

“ _Amelia, for fuck’s sake_ ,” Katrina hissed. “ _Now is not the time—_ ”

“ _When will it be? When he’s setting you up in one of these rooms because he’s bored of what you can do in his_?”

Cullen let out a low growl that surprised everyone, himself included.

Leaning forward, Rosalie was the one to try to fix the situation. “ _Avvar marriages last for years, depending on how the ceremony plays out and_ —”

“ _And that’s worse_ ,” Amelia snapped. “ _Let’s say you have your ceremony and keep Katrina, say, five, six, seven years? Then what? Do you move on, and she gets passed along to someone else? Do you hand her off to another clan? She deserves more than to be some temporary consort_!”

Cullen felt like someone had lit a fire inside of him. Who did this conceited, Lowlands wretch think she was to question him like this? To criticize his people, his culture when she knew next to nothing of it?

Even as he drew himself up, pushing away from the wall, he caught a glimmer of fear in her eyes.

Not of him.

Amelia might have fled the Comte because he was threatening her, but she had that same bond with Katrina. If she was anything like his lady, then she wouldn’t back down so long as she felt her sister was in danger. If she truly believed her sister might be discarded…

“ _My augur stole his bride almost twenty years ago_ ,” he stated simply. When Amelia started to snap something about relevance, he held a hand up to quiet her. “ _Their marriage lasted four years_.” He paused, a faint smile tugging on his scar as he looked at Katrina instead. She’d never heard this story either. “ _His hands were shaking so badly he couldn’t get most of the knots undone. Cassandra even tried to drag out her song to help him, but it was no use. He was too nervous_.” Reaching out, he trailed his knuckles down her cheek. “ _They were married four years, and when the end came, neither of them wanted to say goodbye. Technically they aren’t married anymore, yet they still claim one another as husband and wife. They are free to move on whenever one is ready to, but they are happy together_.” He cleared his throat, gaze still on Katrina. “ _I tell you this because_ … _You are free to leave whenever you wish, but I will keep you at my side until the day you do_.”

She caught his hand and pressed a quick kiss to his fingers. “ _You’re going to be stuck with me for a long time then, dear thane_.”

“ _I wouldn’t have it any other way_.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to every who reads, comments, and leaves kudos! Ya'll make my day <3


	24. Unmasked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta reader, creepypast-queen-, and to all my readers for reading!

Steel clanged against steel in the small clearing just south of Red Lion Hold. Cullen barely allowed himself time to recover before lunging forward, swinging hard and fast. For the first time in a long time, his mind was blissfully blank, without worries of the hold’s stability, of Katrina’s safety, of anything.

Cassandra stopped his blade short with hers and shoved him backwards. Rather than give her thane any advantage, she pressed hers, steel biting through the air as she swung. He narrowly darted out of the way, a small cut on his bicep the only indication that he was getting tired.

Even so, they kept at it. He had come to her, furious about something. He had been pacing in her and Galyan’s home, trying to find the words to voice what had angered him, but he hadn’t been able to. Even if he could have, it wouldn’t have done justice. Words could only get so far. Actions. Those were what mattered, and those were why he was so angry.

Finally, Cassandra had told him to come with her out here. She’d provided the weapons. By the Lady, but she was a good arena master. She could have taken Cullen there, but it would have garnered an audience, and he didn’t want to deal with that just yet. She must have known, hence the privacy of the woods.

In the last few months, Cullen had kept up with his own skills, but he had spent so much time with Katrina, so much time reining in his attacks, making sure he didn’t hit her too hard, making sure that she was able to learn from her mistakes, rather than simply feel that she was hopelessly outmatched.

While it was good for her, it made him feel restless. He had too much energy and—as much as he loved spending it in other ways with Katrina—he’d just needed to give in to his anger, his rage.

He didn’t want to hurt her. Perhaps someday when she was better with her daggers, he could bring her out here, and they could get lost in a different kind of rhythm from what they were used to.

Or perhaps not. He and Cassandra had always found comfort in these sparring sessions. It felt odd to even consider doing this with someone else, even Katrina.

They’d come out there before the sun was up, and it was well overhead by the time they were finally both sprawled out in the grass, breathing heavily and reveling in the weariness that left their limbs heavy.

“What bothers you, Cullen?”

He wondered if he hadn’t fallen out of shape despite his efforts, considering it took him a few gulps of air before he could find his words. And even then, he settled on a mere grunt.

They lay there longer, the sunlight dancing down around them lazily before he finally summoned his voice. “The Shadow Wolves weren’t responsible for the massacre at the Veilfire Caverns.”

Quiet.

The wind rustled the leaves around the edges of their clearing, like distant whispers of Gods watching the warriors with curiosity.

“It was the noble?”

“Yes.”

“So this Lowlander has been playing with _our_ people for years upon years?”

“They have.”

“Yet we have not suffered any other travesties.”

At that, he scoffed. “The only thing that cold-intolerant bastard did to _our_ clan was take away a most holy site. Aside from that, we were too far away for them to care about us.”

“So, you mean they have been toying with the Avvar in general for so long.” Cassandra mused before adding, “We had already established that with other antics brought to light. They poisoned the Spindlewebs’ goats almost twenty years ago to get them to move deeper into the mountains.”

“Who knows when they’ll come after us again?”

“This is not enough to anger you so.” He could barely see Cassandra sit up from the corner of his eye.

“We have spent years hating people—the Shadow Wolves—for something they didn’t do. I’d say it’s enough,” Cullen muttered. How many skirmishes had there been between their clans? How many times had he shrugged off deaths on the other side because they deserved it?

His anger had mellowed as he’d aged, and he’d seen the pointlessness of the continued fighting, advocating for a terse truce when he’d become thane, and yet even then…

Even then, when he’d heard of misfortune falling on the Wolves, a little part of him hadn’t cared in the slightest. He’d started worrying over Mia, over the loss she would feel, but he’d never cared much for the Wolves’ losses. It wasn’t until outsiders had started their assaults that he’d begun to feel any type of sympathy toward Thane Blackwall and his people.

And to think…

Of all the things that had happened, of all the things that they might have deserved, it had been the damned things he’d pitied them for that they’d brought upon themselves.

Or rather, that Thane Blackwall had brought upon them.

In truth, even now, most of the Wolves didn’t deserve to lose their hold as they had.

But their thane…

“Blackwall made a deal with the noble who’s been behind everything. Or rather, a ‘representative’ who came on their behalf.”

Taking in a deep breath, Cullen shoved himself up into a sitting position. As he crossed his legs, he shook his head, sending bits of dirt and grass blades falling from his curls to the ground. His hair was drenched, cooling sweat still clinging to his skin. It made the growing heat of the day more bearable.

When he looked toward Cassandra, her brow was drawn together, lips dipping into a deep frown. “You say he has allied himself with this noble?”

“Yes… Well, not quite…” Cullen covered his face with his hands. Slowly, he let them fall to his lap. “I don’t think he knew this noble was hurting his clan, or so many others. They approached him and offered a trade. He was to raid certain caravans. In exchange, they gave him cloths and Lowlands resources.” He thought back to the stores that the Shadow Wolves had kept, to how full they had been. When he’d seen them, he assumed them the earnings of bountiful raids. He’d never considered they might be payment for services rendered.

“So he raided who they wanted him to raid, and they gave him extra things to reward him for letting other caravans go through or…?”

“Something of that nature,” Cullen murmured. “They did this for a few years, so when he got word to attack one of the caravans, he didn’t realize there was a family traveling with it until it was too late. _They_ didn’t kill them, but the cold _did_. The Lowlands family made it to one of the nearest outposts to wait for help, and the noble made sure another clan raided the only caravan that might have found and saved them.”

Cullen tried to keep his breathing even, but he couldn’t. With a strangled cry, he punched the ground beside him. “They’re using us to kill off the people they don’t want in the way. That family, Katrina, if they’d had their way…” He shook his head. “How many people have the Avvar ‘taken care of’ without even realizing we were playing into their hands?”

Even as Cullen considered picking up his blade and seeing if Cassandra could keep sparring, she spoke. “So the reason they were able to steal from the Wolves’ raiders and hunters was because they were basically directing them when and what to attack?”

“I’d guess so.”

Cassandra cracked her knuckles slowly. “And they attacked the Wolves’ hold to… what? Make sure that the Wolves didn’t tell anyone?”

“My guess is they felt their time working with the Wolves was at an end, and they didn’t want any witnesses.” He ran his fingers through his hair. His skin felt like wretched things were crawling just underneath it, and he couldn’t shake it. “They do that a lot, apparently. Sever ties once someone becomes inconvenient.”  

His mind wandered to Katrina. She’d shaken him awake early this morning with what she’d found from the journals that Cole had given her. It had taken her a few minutes to wake Cullen up, but once he’d been up, he’d wished that it could have been a dream.

To know that his people meant so little to the higher ups in Orlesian society…to know that they’d been used. Even if most of the atrocities _hadn’t_ been committed against Cullen’s clan, it was still too much. To know that his hate had been misdirected, to know that Thane Blackwall had betrayed the unspoken honor of the Avvar to do such base dealings with the Lowlanders, to know that Katrina planned to go back to the Lowlands to deal with whoever this was—the list of suspects was narrowing daily.

It was too much.

He couldn’t let her go back to that awful, awful place. What if she never came back? What if she got caught up in some new tangle of web they’d yet to uncover?

He couldn’t send Rosalie into that monstrous lair, either. She might be an adult, but she was still his little sister. The thought of her being ensnared in some diabolical plot was horrifying.

All of it made his stomach churn.

After a few more minutes of silence, Cassandra finally rose to her feet. “We should get back to the hold.” When Cullen merely waved for her to go without him, she sighed, gathering most of their things. She left Cullen with a sword, not that he would likely need it so close to his own home.

When he was alone, he cracked his jaw, wondering what he could do. Most of the slights had not been against him—in a twisted way, it was thanks to that lurking bastard that he’d even met Katrina—but he still felt like something needed to be done.

 _He_ needed to do something.

But how could he? Perhaps if the noble lived near the mountains, he could rally a few other clans and they could raid the noble’s home?

Even if they could, it would be a terrible idea. After all, according to Amelia, the Lowlanders were looking for a reason to march against the Avvar.

As he looked up, gaze sweeping the area without an intended target in mind, he found Cole sitting in front of him, legs crossed and chin cupped in hands, the God’s elbows propped against his knees. His pale eyes were honed on Cullen’s face, as though he’d been watching the thane’s thoughts with an idle interest.

“I’d wager you know what should be done.”

“Know…?” Cole straightened up and tilted his head. “I…no. No, I don’t know.” He picked at one of his ratty gloves. How odd that a God would wear such weathered clothes. “I do wonder, though.”

The God had been a bit more sense of late, though he still occasionally slipped into whispering others’ thoughts. Cullen nodded toward him. “And just what do you wonder?”

…-…

Katrina had finished with all of the journals that Cole had brought for her. She’d told Cullen what had been in them, and he’d stormed off. She doubted he was mad at _her_ , but she still felt terrible. Though, to be fair, what had she expected to find? That he and his clan had been miraculously spared from all the devious scheming? That no matter what, the Lions would be safe from the noble’s reach and wrath alike? That they could live happily ever in their mountainous home?

She, Amelia, Zevran, Morrigan, and Rosalie sat silently in Zevran’s room, none of them looking at the other. Rosalie’s reading wasn’t good enough to contribute to their work, but even with so few books left they hadn’t needed it.

And anyway, that wasn’t why she came by every day.

Zevran pattered her hand that was clasped with one of his, the reassurance largely lost as Rosalie was steeped in her own thoughts. Her head rested against his shoulder.

Katrina wondered what Cullen would do if he learned that her elven friend had taken a shine to his little sister. And she to him.

Cullen…

If he hadn’t liked the answers she’d had for him this morning, he was going to be even less pleased with their latest one.

Their last one.

The answer to the riddle that had started all of this, really.

Who sat at the middle of this sordid web?

Morrigan abruptly rose to her feet. “I shall return to my clan. I will be gone by sunset.”

At that, Rosalie’s head snapped up, brow furrowing. “You’re just going to leave?”

“What else am I to do? We sought answers. We have them. Your clan was never to get involved in this mess. My task was to find out who my clan needed to seek to repay the thefts and decimation of our home. My thane will wish to know what I have found.”

“But still—”

“Your involvement was merely because of your thane’s inexplicable attraction to the Lowlander we needed to translate. Your lot never _needed_ answers, yet you have them. We did. My people still do.”

Rosalie rose to her feet. “We lost warriors in that raid, too—”

“You lost, what, six, seven people? We lost our home. We lost warriors and hunters and elders and _children_ ,” Morrigan hissed. “Do not think we stand anywhere near the same in terms of losses. My time here was always to be temporary. I have my own tasks to tend to that do not involve the Lions.”

With that, she practically fled the room.

Without thinking, Katrina followed after her, though it wasn’t until she was standing in the doorway to Morrigan’s room that she thought to say a word. “You can’t possibly think to fight back.”

“I will let my thane decide what we will or will not do.” Morrigan sniffed. She was already beginning to pack her few things into a small satchel. “Though I suspect you know more of our plight than the others, do you not?”

“What?”

“I know you took the journals I hid,” Morrigan snapped. “No one else would have dared touch anything in a space gifted to me as a guest, no matter how little they wanted me here. It had to have been you. Or perhaps you had your sister or that elf take them? It is a shame; I had thought you had a semblance of honor, what with all those speeches about justice for a sister who doesn’t even need it.”

Katrina couldn’t help but flinch at her words, despite feeling like Morrigan’s secrecy had been unfounded. “Cole brought them to me. He thought it would help.”

“Cole?” Morrigan echoed, turning to eye Katrina with a suspicious look in her eyes. “You know of Cole?”

“He’s been helping me for months. Since the night the Orlesians attacked your hold…or maybe longer. I didn’t really start remembering him until around then.”

At that, Morrigan fell silent. She crossed her arms, holding her chin a bit higher. “And here I’d thought he only let me remember him.”

“Cullen, too,” Katrina offered with a sympathetic shrug. “Aside from the three of us, I don’t think anyone else knows about him…maybe the augur.”

With a tut, Morrigan sat down on her bed, picking idly at the sheets. “He really retrieved the books for you?”

“Yes.”

“Then I suppose I should not doubt a God’s judgment.”

Her tone said she was doing just that. Katrina tentatively stepped inside the room, walking over to her. “Your clan can’t just march into the Lowlands and exact vengeance. You’d be cut down before you even got close enough to do anything. And people would say it was proof that the Avvar really are a threat.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Morrigan hissed. “Thane Blackwall has dealt more with Lowlanders than I. He will be able to think of something.”

“Why don’t you just contact Dorian?” Katrina offered. When Morrigan’s eyes widened, Katrina twisted her mouth to the side, tugging on her vest. “I caught you talking to him once.”

Morrigan sat up even straighter, her indignation seeming to add an extra inch to her spine. “I see.” She seemed to consider what Katrina had said a moment before looking Katrina over with a critical eye. “I take it your beloved thane already knows then?”

“I told Rosalie,” Katrina admitted. “She said she wasn’t surprised…and seeing how Cullen reacted to Garrett’s sneaking into the hold—”

“Thane Everburning snuck into the hold.” It was a statement, not a question.

Rolling her eyes, Katrina waved off the subject. “It was a while back. It’s…anyway. I didn’t tell him because it didn’t seem that big of a deal.” She paused, appraising Morrigan. “Why? Should I have? Are you plotting to overthrow the Lions?”

Morrigan snorted. “Like I’d want to stay in this abysmal hold longer than I have to.”

“How reassuring.”

Both of them turned to see Cullen standing in the doorway, arms crossed. Even as Morrigan muttered something about privacy and returned to gathering her belongings, Katrina hopped off the bed and trotted up to him. When she reached him, she slipped her arms around his waist and leaned against him. “Come in for your nap?”

“It _is_ hot out,” Cullen murmured, running a hand through her hair and leaning down to press his forehead against hers. “Care to join me?”

Morrigan scoffed.

Katrina couldn’t help but smile at that, though it was short-lived.

“Before that,” Katrina squeezed Cullen a little tighter, brow knitting together. Perhaps she should wait to tell him what they’d discovered. He circles under his eyes were darker than usual, and she had a feeling he could probably use some rest before she told him. However, when she met his gaze, he looked…calmer. And he was thane. He had to be used to getting bad news, frequent or not. Taking in a breath, she steeled herself. “We know who’s behind the plots against the Avvar.”

His free hand had found its way to the small of her back, and he absentmindedly pulled her closer when he straightened up. “Who?”

Katrina considered making him promise not to be angry, but it was pointless. _She_ was angry. She wanted to throw things and scream and kick anyone who tried to quiet her in the face. She wanted to declare the world unfair and just find another one to live in that wasn’t nearly as miserable.

That was rather impractical and beyond juvenile, however.

And yet, the adult thing to do left no clear way for recourse.

As things stood, even knowing who it was meant little. After all, there was nothing they could do to level the scales, to bring the justice that Morrigan had pointed out she so often ranted about.

Loosening her grip on him, she peered up at him. “It’s Celene Valmont I, the empress of Orlais.”  


	25. Paths Diverge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this chapter is a few days late! I'm falling behind with a lot of my writing, and April's gonna be really busy, so think of the update schedule as more of a loose guideline that I will try to stick to for this month. When we get closer to May, I'll be able to say if things will be going back to normal then. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!

Cullen took in a deep breath through his nose and held it, eyes closed and back straight. In all his life, in all his years as thane, in all the months he’d spent with Katrina, he’d never considered this might ever happen.

It was a month ago to the day that he’d sat in his augur’s hut with the other leaders of his hold, their accumulated Lowlanders, and Morrigan, who had used an enchanted crystal to allow for the leaders of her clan to join the conversation as they discussed who it was who had wronged them and how they could possibly seek to get justice or even a simple end to their involvement.

It would have been one thing if it had been some simple noble. Cullen could have led a small group to paint their holdings with goat’s blood, to broadcast their shame to all their people and anyone who might come past. They could have demanded reparation, or simply taken it—granted, Amelia and Katrina had both said that with tensions as they were in Orlais, an Avvar raid on a lonely manor would have likely led to backlash the Avvar couldn’t afford.

Cullen was a bit irritated that Katrina thought they couldn’t handle their own affairs in such a way. Had the Avvar not survived for longer than the Tevinter Imperium and Orlais itself following these traditions?

After all they’d been through, though, Cullen knew her concern was not because she thought he couldn’t defend himself and his clan outright. It was the culture clash that would do damage, more so than either side’s individual actions. And this clash wouldn’t lead to simple feelings being hurt. The Orlesians would call the raid an act of aggression, ignoring that it was a retaliation for something they’d started.

And that had been what they would have had to contend with if it had been a regular noble.

An empress, however…

How did one even bring such a person to their knees?

Katrina’s friend, Zevran, had suggested assassination. He’d stated that it would be a suicide mission, yes, but in the least the empress would be gone and her machinations against the Avvar might cease.

Might.

Cutting down the one who had initiated all these travesties, all this manipulation only _might_ be a solution.

Should she fall, there were dozens of other nobles to take her place, and if the Avvar were even remotely suspected in connection with the assassination, all of Orlais would come for retribution.

And even if the Avvar weren’t suspected, who was to say another noble might not take up harassing the different clans anyway?

And then there was the fact that Thane Blackwall had never dealt with the empress himself, which meant that she likely already _had_ other nobles involved. It had been some other noble’s courier—possibly one belonging to the empress who simply identified himself as someone else’s servant to keep the empress’ name out of such things—who had assisted him with the planning of the raids and the like.

Cullen had been generous, in his opinion, when he’d confronted Thane Blackwall about his complicity with the events leading up to the raid. Rather than condemn him in front of everyone, Cullen had requested to speak with Thane Blackwall in private, via the enchanted crystal. While he’d known he was alone on his end, it hadn’t mattered if Thane Blackwall had been on his, as Cullen had desired to discuss with his fellow thane the issue of assisting the Orlesians by raiding when they wanted the Wolves to.

Thane Blackwall had admitted to the damned thing, voice low. While the regret had almost been palpable, Cullen still grimaced with disgust every time he thought of it.

That an Avvar—even if they weren’t from his clan—could sell themselves like that to the Orlesians…

Honor aside, the attack on the Wolves’ hold had been directly related to their dealings. Thane Blackwall had brought his clan to near ruin for some extra goods that could have easily been taken more honestly.

Cullen had nearly broken that damned crystal. However, what was done was done, and not amount of misplaced anger would prevent the Lions from being ensnared in this damnable web.

He’d had asked why Thane Blackwall had gotten him involved, if he’d already _known_ why things were happening. He’d been surprised when Mia had spoken out—apparently beside her husband through everything—and told him they hadn’t been sure, and had thought perhaps it was an enemy noble or just something else. One could never tell with Orlesians.

Apparently it was hard to tell with most anyone.

How had she thought it appropriate to involve the Lions in this mess, when they’d had an idea that things could be as convoluted and dangerous as they were? Mia really was loyal to her hold above all else, as one should be.

It still stung.

Cullen had tossed the crystal back to Morrigan when he’d finished talking to the others. He wasn’t sure why he’d bothered. It wasn’t as though confronting them would undo what had been done. It wasn’t as though it would allow him to wash his hands of this whole mess.

Branson had wanted him to. Cassandra as well. While the events of the Veilfire Caverns had been atrocious, it was not worth the rest of the clan to try to seek justice. While it was deplorable, surely, as thane, he could see that it would benefit no one.

And they were right.

As thane, it was his job to think of the hold before all else. The bile that rose to his throat at the way his mother and their people had died years ago was from his own, personal grievance. Branson had suggested they burn the journals and move east, toward Ferelden.

Katrina had been incensed, even as Amelia agreed it was for the best.

“That bitch will just keep doing what she’s been doing!” She’d cried, shooting to her feet. Cullen had left the place he’d been seated at—with his fellow Lions to either side—to wrap his arms around her and try to calm her down. She’d thrust her hands against his chest as though to shove him away, though in the last second, she’d simply leaned against him, near tears as she looked up at him. “We can’t just ignore what she’s done.”

“She executed the Comte for you. Your justice has been had,” Branson had snapped.

“And she’s no better than him. By the Lady, she’s worse! She set me up to be murdered to frame _your_ people.”

“To frame the _Wolves_ , not us,” Branson had snapped.

That had been when Amelia had reluctantly shifted her stance to agree with Katrina. “Knowing what’s in those journals, what the Lowlands knows of Avvar, and what’s going on now, I’d say she’d moving against more than just the Wolves.” She’d paused, noting Katrina’s narrowed gaze and then sighed, running her fingers through her hair in a manner most similar to her sister’s. “People are incensed over what happened to Katrina. She was killed by barbarians—”

When Branson had hissed something about not being a barbarian, Zevran had intervened. “While that may be true, Orlais has always had a way of looking down its nose at the rest of the world. Do not fret. They find most everyone barbaric in comparison to themselves. Antiva included, I am sure.”

That hadn’t done much to assuage Branson’s anger.

Amelia had hesitated before continuing. “I believe I know why she wanted Katrina to die at the hands of Avvar. I will…try not to use such negative language, if it pleases you, though that is a part of the narrative going through the court.”

“You just want a reason to call Cullen names,” Katrina had muttered.

Though it had looked like the twins might fall into bickering, Amelia had taken in a deep breath and then started talking again, as though she wasn’t immensely annoyed. “In Orlais, there is something known as the Grand Game. Surely, you have heard of it, as it is quite famous.” When Cullen simply motioned for her to go on, she sighed. “Empress Celene is debatably the best at this Game. It is why she is empress. Years and years ago, she stole the throne from the Grand Duke, Gaspard de Chalons. Ever since, he has been trying to reclaim it.”

“How does that have anything to do with us?” Branson had hissed, looking ready to toss out the Lowlanders all together and be done with this chaos.

It was Zevran who answered. “He is just problematic enough to be a thorn in her side. Were he not so well connected, I’m certain we would have been called in to deal with him.” He paused before correcting himself, “Or, rather, the Crows would have been called in.”

“Precisely,” Amelia had said, retaking the reins for the explanation. “She can’t do anything about him directly, so instead she has to play the Game that she’s so masterfully won for years.” Amelia had risen to her feet to come over to Katrina, placing a hand on her shoulder as she’d given her an almost pitying look. “She must have been looking for someone to use already when Katrina came in and made her stand against the Comte de Forseau. Someone so innocent, so removed from the Game would have been a prime target.”

“You think she wanted someone the people would like to fall to the Avvar,” Cullen had surmised, eyes narrowing.

With a nod, Amelia had loosened her grip on Katrina. “Yes, I do. I think she intended to incite a thirst for vengeance in her court, one that she expected the grand duke to leap upon. She wanted him to champion my sister’s cause, to put himself out there. Then she could accuse him of being a warmonger who just wants to answer bloodshed with more bloodshed. She would placate the court with a more level head, and the grand duke would be seen as an extremist or maybe…” Amelia sighed and slumped her shoulders for a second before straightening up again—those years of sitting properly still ingrained in her memory. “I don’t know all of what was to follow, but I think that’s why she was so quick to descend upon your northern neighbors. She intended to blame Gaspard for acting against people who hadn’t deserved it, and he would lose face.”

“But he is smarter than she gives him credit for,” Zevran had jumped in, even as Cullen had tried not to think of how despicable it was that people could honestly pit others against each other thus with so little value to the lives being ruined along the way. “He did not make his move, instead waiting to see how the empress would act. Without him to be her foil, she is likely floundering for a way to get her plans back on track.”

“And she doesn’t know if her secrets are safely destroyed or not,” Katrina had whispered. “So there _will_ be more attacks. Even if she needs to be seen as the peacekeeper, she’s sure to let more Avvar clans fall, just to protect herself.”

Cassandra had asked if the empress might not simply assume her secrets were safely lost within the wilderness. Even as she’d spoken, Cullen had been able to see the hopelessness in her eyes, hear it in her voice.

They would have no such luck.

And if the empress was really set on finding her secrets, she would hunt for them. Amelia and Zevran both had confirmed this.

The Avvar continued to suffer because the grand duke had not fallen to the empress’ plots. Worse, she was just as likely to keep using her reach to harm the different clans, whenever it suited her whim.

Regardless of the injustice, Cullen could not lead his clan to war against an entire empire, and the other clans were not his responsibility.

Even as he had considered this, Katrina had straightened up, pulling a bit away from him, her fingers curling into fists against his chest. “We should give the journals to the grand duke,” she’d blurted. That fire that he’d fallen love with the night of the raid burned in her eyes as she looked up at him. “We can make her lose the Game by giving all the pieces that matter to her enemy. He’ll bring her down.”

There had been such hope, such determination in her eyes. Cullen had leaned down and kissed her gently as the silence at her suggestion had dragged on. While he’d merely meant to show her he loved her and valued that she would wish to fight so hard, she’d been rather indignant at that, thinking he was dismissing her.

She’d muttered something about him trying to quiet her, and he’d whispered in her ear that he liked her loud. While that had gotten her a little sidetracked with blushing, it hadn’t done much to fix the tension in the room.

Finally, she’d rocked away from him, crossing her arms. “It’s awful, but there’s nothing you can do to reach her if you play by your rules, Cullen. She’s way out of our league. But not his. If we go after her, she’ll see us coming before we even get close. But maybe if we go to him, things can work out.”

Cullen had lightly gripped her waist, pulling her back to him. “So you want to give the grand duke the power to get rid of the empress?”

“I do not think that is wise,” Zevran had interrupted. “Little as I know about foreign politics, I _do_ know that the grand duke is an expansionist. He seeks to extend Orlais’ borders. The Avvar are the nearest, _smallest_ groups to conquer.”

“Let them try,” Morrigan had spat, indignant. “We are not so weak that we will fall so easily. They could not even bring down my clan with a direct assault.”

“That was hardly the entire army, my dear lady,” Zevran had argued, frowning. “I doubt any clan would fare so well against the full might of the empire, dwindled as it may be.”

Katrina had straightened up, despite the overwhelming voices against her. “You’re right, no clan would be able to survive that. That’s why we need to remove ourselves from the equation. All of us.” She’d motioned around the room. “Maybe we don’t take those journals to Grand Duke Gaspard, but let’s take them to a noble who can contend against the empress. We can show how she hoards her secrets, let them have them in exchange for the Avvar’s safety.”

“As soon as they have the books, they’ll just go back on their word.” Amelia had tried to reason, resting her hand on Katrina’s arm, sympathetic. “I know you want to help, but that’s not how politics works.”

“You know, a lot of people tell me I don’t know how a lot of things work, and yet somehow I end up just fine, with things working perfectly well for me.” Katrina had tried to check her temper when it looked like Amelia’s might flare up to meet hers. “We don’t give them all the journals. We give them the ones on the Avvar. Maybe a few of the nobles they don’t like, but keep the ones about them or something. We show the empress’ enemies what she’s scheming. Give them proof. Let _them_ take her down.”

 “She will see us coming from miles away, Katrina,” Amelia had insisted.

Before Katrina could try to argue further, Cullen had held up a hand, quieting the room. He’d suggested they try planting some books in the Lowlands’ cities, to make it look like the secrets had made it out of the mountains. Zevran had been quite confident that an investigation into such things would lead back to them. Then the whole lot of them would be killed, regardless of if they actually knew anything or not.

Further, Amelia had pointed out that the journals detailed things that had happened to almost every noble family. If they took the information to the wrong people, the nobles would likely kill them just to keep their own secrets safe and earn the empress’ favor.

There really was no good way out of this mess.

Honestly, the only thing he could actually settle on was that it _would_ be in his people’s best interest if they moved.

Cullen jostled in his seat as they rode on, briefly drawn from his ponderings. It was midday, during the hours that the Avvar normally took their rest, but they couldn’t very well do that now. Even if there weren’t too many miles left to go, being in unfamiliar territory all but assured that it wouldn’t be safe to just drop everything because of a little discomfort.

Or a lot of discomfort.

This was for the best. It had to be.

Katrina had been furious that he would even suggest moving his clan. They didn’t deserve to have to run. He’d held her to him, pointing out that a great many people did things they shouldn’t have to do. She’d cursed and ranted in at least three different languages, tears pricking her eyes. Through that blazing wildfire inside of her, he’d held her.

Finally, she’d pushed away from him and started toward the door. A part of him had been terrified that she was somehow going to attempt to go toe to toe with the empress by herself. Even as he’d started after her, she’d whirled back to face them, surprised to see he was on her heels.

“You shouldn’t have to suffer because some tawdry _bitch_ a thousand miles away feels like playing with people she doesn’t even know!”

Cullen had cupped her cheeks in his hands, leaning his forehead against hers. “We’ll figure this out.”

“Cole agrees with me,” Katrina had whispered, voice low enough that the others couldn’t hear. “He thinks we should take the journals back. _I’m_ going to.”

With that, she’d stalked out of the hut.

No matter what some might think of her, Cullen had no doubt in his mind that Katrina was a force of nature, and he was certain that, once awakened to her cause, she would see it through to the end. If that meant storming an Orlesian palace by herself, she’d do it or—more likely—die trying.

However, as much as Cullen wanted to throw caution to the wind, he couldn’t very well do so when so many people depended on him.

A thane couldn’t just turn his back on his responsibilities, not even for love.

And so he’d stood there as she’d gone, watching numbly as the conversation had died down, as Morrigan had excused herself for the night, as Zevran and Amelia had headed out after her, if only to make sure that she didn’t do anything ridiculous like try to leave the hold right that second.

Branson had spoken up, pointing out yet again that they really _couldn’t_ stand against the empress, and that it wasn’t weak to know when a fight was impossible to win. Cullen had known he was right.

The clan would have to be moved to assure their safety. They would untangle themselves from this Lowlander mess. They would send word to the surrounding clans, but beyond that, the Lions would wash themselves of this whole affair.

After all, an Avvar’s loyalty was to their hold, and a thane’s to his people.

With that decision made, there had only been one thing left to do.

Cullen rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, frowning when his fingers caught on the collar of his shirt. It felt like it was strangling him. Even as he reached up to tug it away from his neck, thin fingers wrapped around his, pulling his hands away.

As Katrina brought his hands to her lips and placed a few quick kisses across his knuckles, Amelia scowled. “Would you leave it be?” She turned to glance out the window of their carriage, barely seeming to feel the way the miserable little box jostled them. “There’s no way we’re passing them off as Lowlanders.”

“We’ll just say you’re Fereldan if anyone asks,” Katrina told him, reassuringly. She looped her arms around his and leaned into him a little.

 “I love you,” he whispered, bending his head down against that miserably stiff collar to kiss the scar on her forehead, “but I need my space. I am going to die of heatstroke.”

With a sharp, poorly muffled laugh, Katrina moved away from him, though she did let her hand slip down to lace her fingers with his. “This isn’t even summer weather in Starkhaven.”

“You are from a place that is most certainly unsuited for life,” Cullen muttered.

“We must consider ourselves fortunate that we are not heading so far north, then,” Morrigan quipped. She looked about as miserable as Cullen felt. Unlike all the stories of elaborate dresses, she was dressed much as Katrina and Amelia and he were: simple breeches, knee high boots, plain over shirts and vests. They looked like they might pass for servants of some kind, something they fully intended to do.

After all, servants could get into places that exiled nobles and Avvar could never even hope to.

‘Plain’ and thin as the clothes were, they were still far too much for summer weather, let alone this stifling madness. Cullen was amazed his shirt wasn’t sticking to him yet from sweat. The back probably was.

He leaned forward in his seat, hating the way the carriage jostled them again as one of the wheels hit a rut in the road. Amelia had critiqued it before, but apparently Zevran was not the best of drivers.

There was a rather distinct and growing part of Cullen that wanted to curl up and die—or just run back to the mountains.

Heat aside, the sounds were getting to be a bit much, too. There were people outside, though he’d only glanced out the window a few times to catch a glimpse. They’d gone by too quickly for him to enjoy the view, and honestly the way the carriage made the outside world seem to jolt and tilt made him a bit sick, so he’d sat back and waited for this torture to be over.

This was ridiculous.

“It’s not too late to go back, if you want,” Katrina murmured, peering up at him and brushing a few loose locks of hair from his face. Amelia had done something to his curls this morning, making them straighter and stiff as they swept back away from his face and tapered off at the base of his neck. The heat of the day had already freed a few of his curls—he could feel them tickling his ears and forehead.

With a scoff, Morrigan shifted in her seat, trying to find a position that had the least contact with their surroundings so that the air around her could at least try to cool her down. “I’d say it’s _well_ past too late.”

“You could sit up front, I suppose.” However, even as Katrina leaned toward the window to call up to where Zevran was driving, Amelia gripped her arm.

“Don’t you dare. His hair will turn back into that unruly, unkempt mess, and _no_ one will believe he’s from anywhere but some wild, forgotten place.”

“Like anyone can see his damned hair,” Katrina snapped.

“They will if he’s sitting outside of the carriage,” Amelia retorted. “Honestly. Do you even hear yourself when you talk? Does simple logic just completely elude you?”

“Stop calling me dumb.”

“Then stop acting like it.” Amelia slipped back into her seat, back straight, scowl in place. “Though I suppose we all are for going along with this stupid, stupid plan.” Even as the rest of them rolled their eyes, she crossed her arms pointedly. “That noble is going to run right to the empress and tell her we’re en route. I’m surprised we haven’t been pulled over and murdered already.”

Amelia was referring to the noble they’d bribed upon reaching the Lowlands.

Once it had become clear that the only way to end this debauchery was to go to Orlais, Cullen had known that there was only one thing he could do. Despite his duty chaining him to his hold, he could not let what had been going on continue.

Likewise, he couldn’t drag his people into it.

And so, after the Lowlanders had left, he’d turned back to his people. Even as he’d opened his mouth, Galyan had held up a hand. Prior to that moment, the augur had been silent throughout all of the proceedings. However, as it had all wrapped up, he’d given Cullen a small smile and nodded his chin toward the door. “The Gods already know your plans, and they agree.”

While Branson had risen to his feet half questions spilling from his lips, Cullen had smiled back at Galyan and nodded to him. “I’m stepping down as thane and going to the Lowlands.”

Branson had nearly punched him. Though Cullen had been willing to let him, his brother had stopped himself in the last minute, instead gripping Cullen in a bear of a hug. “You can’t. The hold needs you.”

“The hold needs a thane who can be here,” Cullen had offered quietly. “I’m meant to be elsewhere.”

“You can’t know that!”

“The Gods know it,” Galyan had interrupted. “If even one of them thought Cullen ought to remain, I would say as much.”  

With that, Cullen had gone after Katrina, and they’d been gone before the morning light.

Amelia, Zevran, Katrina, Morrigan, and himself.

It had taken two and a half weeks to get out of the mountains on horseback. Galyan had sent an apprentice—who could keep the Lowlanders healed through hard rides and help keep the pace quick—and two others with them to see their party to the edge of the mountains. Jim had been one of their escort.

When they’d reached the outskirts of one of the Orlesian manors that bordered the Frostbacks, Cullen and the others had dismounted and left their steeds to be taken back with their escort. After all, the horses in the mountains were notably larger and less tolerant to heat.

And they would have been a dead giveaway that—in the very least—their party was not from Orlais. That was attention they didn’t need.

It had been hard to say goodbye to Gunvor. The steed had served Cullen well for years—he’d been riding the noble beast longer than he’d been thane. However, knowing how poorly his horse would fare in the Lowlands helped him to leave the creature behind.

It wasn’t like he’d be gone forever. If they could successfully put an end to all this, then Cullen would find his way back to his clan.

After all, he would always be a Red Lion.

Never-the-less, that wasn’t exactly something he could relay to his steed, and Gunvor had not been willing to let Jim or the others handle him, instead trying multiple times to follow after Cullen. It wasn’t until the horse had refused to leave that Cole had shown himself again. After speaking gently to the beast for a few minutes, Gunvor had clopped slowly up to Cullen and nibbled his hair in farewell.

After that, it had been Cullen who’d had to fight the urge not to go back.

Cole had led them to the manor, spoken to the noble. The God had surprised them by having brought the journals pertaining to the noble in question and offering them to the woman in exchange for clothes and means to get further into the country.

She’d willingly obliged. Cole had been sure to tell them she was trustworthy before disappearing to wherever he went once again.

Amelia hadn’t enforced the Avvar wearing their Lowlands’ clothes properly until this morning. They were getting close to the capital, and it ‘wouldn’t do’ to have someone see them in a state of undress. Katrina had argued that they’d be fine if they just acted drunk, but Amelia insisted that they couldn’t afford to draw attention to themselves in such a way.

Especially when Katrina was supposed to be dead, Amelia was supposed to be missing, and Zevran had assassins after him.

Cullen reached up to scratch his nose, frowning when his thumb brushed against his clean-shaven cheek. That had been another of Amelia’s demands which had earned another of Katrina’s eye rolls. Cullen had obliged if only to keep the peace.

And because Rosalie had said she thought it was a brilliant idea.

Rosalie…

She’d been the other Avvar sent with them in their escort. Well, sent was a strong word. Likely she’d told whoever was supposed to come that if they didn’t trade places with her, she’d make their life miserable when they got back.

She did have a way with words.

The carriage slowed to a stop, and Cullen barely heard boots thud against the ground over the rest of the commotion in the world beyond. After a moment, the carriage door opened, and Rosalie poked her head in. She was dressed as the rest of them, her hair tied back at the nape of her neck, giving a clear view of her face for once.

There was the faintest quiver of a smile on her lips. She was absolutely giddy. “You have to see this.”

When it had been time to say goodbye to Gunvor, Cullen had _tried_ to say goodbye to Rosalie. She’d insisted on coming. He’d insisted she not. Even if she was a grown woman, she was still his little sister, and he didn’t want to see anything terrible befall her. It was going to be nerve-wracking enough trying to keep Katrina safe in a place where he didn’t know the rules or customs. He didn’t want to worry over Rosalie as well.

He’d thought he’d gotten through to her.

She’d headed back with the others.

And then, when they’d gone to get the carriage ready to leave the manor, she’d been there, already donning Lowlander gear and talking to Zevran in broken common, biting her lip at something she most likely hadn’t even understood.

And so she’d joined their party.

Rosalie didn’t wait for Cullen to respond before she ducked back out of the doorway. Amelia rolled her eyes and then slipped out first. Cullen could barely see a tawny hand extend to take Morrigan’s as she went next. Zevran’s voice was a gentle, melodic drum mixed in with the rest of the noise, though it was familiar at least.

Katrina hesitated before getting up, squeezing Cullen’s hand and leaning over to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Are you ready to see the Lowlands?”

He swallowed.

When he finally nodded, she moved to the door of the carriage and disappeared from view. Cullen took in a deep breath through his nose again and then pushed himself up and out, into the brilliant afternoon light.


	26. Val Royeaux

“ _Would you like to try one_?”

Cullen’s head snapped up, and he stared at the merchant who had just addressed him. He’d caught most of what was said—enough that he knew what they’d asked—but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of a proper, coherent response. Over the last few weeks—on their trip out of the mountains—Katrina, Amelia, and Zevran had done their best to impart the most important aspects of Lowlander life, focusing heavily on the most commonly used words and phrases, particularly in Orlais.

However, now, when he was directly asked even so simple a question, he felt himself freeze up.

Even as he fish-mouthed, fingers laced with his, and Katrina leaned against him, smiling brightly at the vendor.

“ _Thank you, ser. We would love that_!”

Cullen watched as Katrina pointed to one of the large wheels of cheese. Rosalie followed suit, pointing without saying anything.

Zevran had been teaching Rosalie the common tongue, though she was still quite far behind where Cullen was. While he might be able to keep up with half of the conversations, she was mostly responding based either on people’s expressions, which were hard to read thanks to the damnable masks that everyone seemed so intent on wearing, or just following whatever it was that Katrina or Zevran did.

Since they’d gotten into the city, Amelia and Zevran had busied themselves with finding out which nobles were on the grand duke’s side or could be swayed against the empress. When a potential ally was found, Cole would appear within the hour to tell them if they would be suitable or not. From there, Katrina and Cullen went to the noble, explaining their situation and presenting them with a journal that either held their own secrets or that of an enemy’s.

How so many of the journals had ended up with them had initially been beyond Cullen—he’d been quite sure they’d left most of them behind.

Well, he’d thought that, at least, until he’d seen Morrigan pull one out of a satchel on her hip. When she’d noticed his bafflement that she could know which books to bring, she’d motioned him over to see her handiwork. He’d looked into the bag and seen dozens more journals through the opening than could possibly fit in that small satchel.

Magic, at its finest, was going to win them this war.

If it could be called that.

There certainly didn’t feel like there was any fighting, and that made Cullen feel more than a little useless. The way they’d always talked about the Lowlands, he’d expected an attack or two against them by now. Where were all these backstabbers and secret assassins?

As it was, while Amelia and Zevran were off gathering their information, Katrina was playing sitter for the Avvar. Morrigan was content to guard their books, and Rosalie was thrilled just to be in the city, but Cullen felt so damned…out of place.

Perhaps he should have stayed back at his hold after all.

It certainly would have beaten standing in front of a merchant like a fool, without a word to say.

Katrina had been making idle conversation with the man when she paused and looked at Cullen, squeezing his hand and motioning toward the merchandise in front of them with her head. “ _Do point at what you would like to try, love._ ”

While she’d spoken slower, making it easier for him to follow—speaking in Avvar wouldn’t be wise, as the empress supposedly had eyes and ears everywhere, and they didn’t want to tip her off that anyone other than the usual Avvar traders were in the city—he’d been thrown by her last word.

Without thinking, he leaned over and brushed his lips against the corner of her mouth. The merchant let out a cluck of a laugh.

With a cough, Cullen turned away from Katrina’s wide smile to inspect the different cheeses. He recognized two as goats’ cheese. The Avvar clans usually made and sold such things to the Lowlanders or dwarves. The rest, however…

Finally feeling that this moment was going to drag on into eternity if he didn’t do something, he pointed to one, mumbling lowly, “… _This_ …” He should have thought this through better. Even when he remembered his words, he wasn’t particularly good with them. He was no asset out here, in the Lowlands, where there were so many people around that one could barely hear oneself think.

Everything was so crowded. The buildings were _so_ tall and close together. It felt like a good storm would knock half of them over, surely.

“ _A fine choice, ser_.” The vendor had already given Katrina and Rosalie their pieces—they were tiny little squares that they each held in their palms, patiently waiting for Cullen to get his. Once he’d taken his own piece a bit too carefully from the man—it wouldn’t do to have them figure out he was an Avvar by being too brash or clumsy or…whatever stereotypes they had for his people—Katrina took a small bite from hers, watching him all the while.

“ _I have no words for this, good ser. You have truly outdone yourself_.”

Cullen followed suit, biting off about half of his own instead of just tossing it into his mouth. It felt a little overly ceremonious for eating damned cheese, of all things, but it would be better to fit in.

It was a sharper taste than he was used to. The merchant was watching him expectantly.  “… _It is good_.”

The man’s lips seemed to debate forming a smile or a frown, but before he could decide to hold Cullen guilty of something, Katrina laughed gently and patted Cullen’s arm. “ _He’s Ferelden_.”

It was as though that excused whatever faux pas he had committed. The merchant instantly turned his attention back to Katrina. “ _Forgive me if I am mistaken, but you sound like you’re from Antiva_.”

“ _Ah, yes_ ,” Katrina replied. Since their return to the Lowlands, she and Amelia had both adopted Antivan accents. Nothing like a Starkhaven blonde wandering the streets to let the empress know that Katrina was back from the dead. An Antivan blonde wouldn’t likely raise any alarms right away.

“ _The story of how the two of you met must have been quite the tale_ ,” the merchant offered, as Katrina handed him a small list, and he began to gather their order. He smiled when she lightly touched his arm and asked him to give them cuts of both the cheeses Cullen and Rosalie had tried as well.

“ _Oh, it is not nearly so interesting as you would think_.” Katrina laughed, waving her hand in a way that made Cullen think of Amelia. “ _Our employer likes having people from different cultures tossed together_.”

“ _Is that so_ …” he looked back and hit his forehead lightly, “ _I recognize those masks. Lady Belemonte sent you, didn’t she_?”

“ _The one and only_.” Katrina curtseyed.

“ _I always thought she preferred to keep elves on hand for this sort of task_.”

“ _Well, you see, it is quite complicated, actually_ ,” Katrina began, shrugging lightly and talking as though she’d known this man her whole life. “ _A friend of a friend owed my mother a debt, and I have come into service for the lovely Lady. It is training, really. These two have a similar tale_.” She motioned to Cullen and Rosalie.

“ _Lord Gastrelle_?”

“ _If I wish to keep this job, I cannot speak of it_. _No one likes their gambling habits known to all_.”

Cullen felt Katrina’s fingers tighten around his own, the only indication that she was getting exasperated with the man.

As he finished gathering their things and took their coin—they’d received coin from several nobles for their ‘assistance’, as well as a room at one of the more nondescript, yet decent inns. It made Cullen feel like they were just as corrupt as the empress they were trying to bring down.

The merchant tilted his head, waving a hand to catch Katrina’s hand as she took the bag. “ _I suppose I can see her taking you in, but this still seems odd_. _I wasn’t aware that Lady Belemonte allowed such public fraternization among her people_.”

Cullen half expected Katrina to start swearing. Part of him wished she would. It would be reassuring to have something normal in this horrid place. Between the heat and constant deception, he couldn’t stand it here.

Instead, she simply pursed her lips. “ _Well, she’s been a bit lenient since her newest…house guest_.”

The merchant leaned forward. “ _Oh_?”

“ _We should not say anything about it_ ,” Katrina whispered, leaning in. Cullen and Rosalie followed suit, though he was completely lost. “ _But you do seem a good sort. You did not press for my earlier story, so I feel I can tell you this one. There is a rather handsome gentleman who has been about the estate the last few weeks, doting most enthusiastically on our dear lady_.”

“ _No…is it the Comte du Endras’ son_?”

“ _Alas, we cannot say specifics_.” Katrina straightened up as she nodded meaningfully, and Cullen and Rosalie again followed her lead.

“ _It is_.” The merchant’s eyes gleamed from behind his mask. Finally, he relinquished their goods. “ _I knew it. They say she is having an affair with the youngest son. She’s almost thrice his age_.”

“ _Love knows…no bounds_ ,” Cullen offered with a shrug. Katrina had to bite back a laugh.

“ _We really must go_.”

“ _Of course_.” The man nodded, wearing his glee a bit too openly.

With that, Katrina set a brisk pace down the bustling street, Rosalie and Cullen flanking her.

When they were far enough down the block that the merchant couldn’t see, Katrina casually pulled Cullen and Rosalie into an alley. When she was sure they were out of sight from the main road and no one was around to see them, she set down her bags.  After stretching her shoulders, she pulled two different masks from one of their bags and unwrapped them from the delicate cloth that was used to keep them safe. She handed one to Cullen and the other to Rosalie as they took their current ones off, trading. After she’d wrapped theirs up, she swapped hers.

If they pretended to be one noble’s servant’s it was likely that word would get back to them quickly and then they would look into the matter. By swapping who they impersonated constantly, they were just ambiguous faces in the crowds, hard to follow.

“I love the two of you dearly, but for fuck’s sake, you _must_ stop doing that.”

Rosalie stared at her, eyes a bit wider than usual. Truly, the wonder of the city was getting to her. “Doing what?”

“Copying every single damn thing that I do.”

“But we don’t want to mess up,” Rosalie protested.

“Just act like a pompous prig, and you’ll be fine.” Katrina waved her hand dismissively. “Look, you’re both worrying about it too much. If you make it too obvious, someone is going to catch on.”  

“Someone is going to catch on anyway,” Cullen murmured.

“We’ll be fine,” Katrina said, abruptly changing her tune. Walking up to him, she slipped her arms around his waist, squeezing him gently against her. There was too much cloth in the way to feel her, and that just irritated him more. “I know you’re nervous, and I wish I could show you all this stuff without the dismal threat of dismemberment—”

“I’d take that over this,” Cullen replied before he could stop himself.

At that, Katrina looked down, considering it. For the last few days, she’d taken Rosalie and Cullen out into the city on various expeditions. Gathering food for the group, mostly. However, they never went to the same part of the market twice, instead going to different parts of the city all together.

Cullen knew it was to keep people from noticing them showing up again and again.

“There was no need to talk to him for so long,” Cullen muttered.

With an eye roll, Katrina conceded that point. “Well, at least we know who we’re impersonating now. Cole could have left a note about which masks went to which house… Though, he’s probably the reason we haven’t been called out by any other workers from the different houses.”

“I don’t like this dishonesty.” He was surprised to see that Rosalie looked almost disappointed in him. By the Lady, couldn’t anything go right out here?

“Look at it this way,” Katrina offered as she let him go and went to gather their things. Rosalie had already picked up half of them. “Every noble here is a scum eating bastard. By spreading scandalous rumors about a few, we’re getting them back for at least a little of their debauchery. In a way that doesn’t get us arrested.”

“Zevran said there was a thing called ‘libel’,” Rosalie protested. “When you make up things about someone—”

“Well, yes,” Katrina frowned. “But they’d have to prove it was us, and if they can find us to accuse us, we have bigger problems.”

At least she still had her usual accent when she spoke Avvar. He was starting to miss the way her tongue twisted common words tremendously.

“We won’t be able to fix this mess if we get caught in warring noble houses.”

“Cole won’t let that happen.”

“Faith in the Gods is good, but…” Cullen trailed off before sighing when Katrina looked at him, clueless. “We must not rely solely on their abilities. Even Gods can be surprised or outmaneuvered.”

“We’ll be fine,” Katrina assured him again, reaching up to peck his cheek. “Let’s head back. The others may have found a new ally by now.”

…-…

It had been a long, long day. A long few days. Despite trying to do what she could to show Cullen and Rosalie the different parts of the city—she’d offered to let Morrigan come too, though the woman simply dismissed her, saying she would rather wait, should Amelia and Zevran return early—it didn’t seem to be helping. Cullen was tense the whole time and rarely enjoyed any of the sights, even when Katrina specifically stopped and pointed them out to him. He might get a fleeting smile, but he was so stiff and always looking around, as though he truly expected to be attacked at any second.

Maybe the threat _was_ real, but…

He and his people had been so accepting of her, and she’d wanted to return the kindness in some way. She’d wanted to show him some nice places—even if they weren’t really hers, as Starkhaven was a long way off.

Starkhaven.

She wouldn’t be going back there, would she? As much as she loved Cullen, loved everything about the Avvar, it left an odd pain in her chest to think that the last time she’d been in Starkhaven, she’d been fleeing her father’s wrath in secret to bring down a monster.

She hadn’t said goodbye to any of her friends. Hadn’t done a lot of things. There had been a pub that she frequented, where she’d promised to help them decorate for the coming festival. Seeing as she was so good at scaling things, she’d been a sort of unofficial climber, who put the wreaths in the hard to reach places.

They’d have to find someone else to do all that. Korth’s teeth, they probably already had. She’d been gone for half a year. Life had moved on without her, surely.

It still hurt.

And it didn’t help that try as she might to show Cullen the things that he’d always seemed at least a little interested in—if his attentiveness during Rosalie’s ritualistic showing of Lowlander trinkets was any indication—he was too preoccupied to care.

And he wasn’t sleeping well. He hated their bed. It was a bit cushy, even for Katrina’s liking, so she could see why he’d probably be annoyed by it. Katrina had offered to toss all their blankets on the floor and curl up there, but he’d grumbled something she couldn’t catch and hadn’t been interested in repeating himself.

Cullen was not taking well to the Lowlands at all.

The sooner they could return to the mountains, the better. Cole seemed to think that they would just need to deliver a few more books and then things would be good to go. Katrina didn’t like leaving things off in a way where they couldn’t see the machinations in play, especially when it meant trusting Orlesians to overthrow their empress or just find a way to curb her reach.

It had to be hard for Cullen, too. The Avvar had a lot clearer view of good and bad, and this was definitely somewhere along the line.

She wished she could find a way to help Cullen relax, if only a little.

Now, for example. He’d seemed to like that sharp cheddar that he’d tried, but it sat on the table, untouched. He had settled on a small bench built into the wall just below the window sill, watching the city bustle below, an unreadable look on his features.

She supposed she hadn’t helped much, snapping at him to stop doing everything she did, as she had.

Next to him, she wasn’t a very good host.

Picking up the cheddar, she walked over to him and lightly thwacked his shoulder. “You should eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Katrina sat down beside him, tossing the cheese onto a table near their seat. “See anything interesting?”

He merely grunted, gaze ever moving.

Sliding closer and pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder, she hummed when even that didn’t distract him from his vigilance. It wasn’t until she leaned up and lightly bit his earlobe that he finally let himself look away from whatever threat—real or imagined—he was expecting. When he paused in his appraisal of the world beyond their window to give her a frown, she barely managed to keep her smile in place. "I love you." 

He shifted a little, slipping an arm around her and then pressing a quick kiss against her temple. “I love you, too.”

"The world won’t end if you take a break, you know." 

"To take a break, I’d have to be _doing_ something." His gaze moved back to the streets below.

With a laugh, Katrina nestled closer to him. “Are you upset because we can’t just go after the empress…” she trailed off as she said that, glancing around as though she expected someone to hear and go running to the crown about talk of treason.

It didn’t seem to matter to her head that they were speaking Avvar and the likelihood that anyone could hear them—regardless of language—was slim to none.

“I should have stayed with my hold. If the empress attacks, I would be more useful there.”

His words were so quiet, she almost missed them.

“Everything will be okay,” Katrina said, trying to sound sure of herself. She almost said that Cole would see things through, but he’d already dismissed relying on a God so much. In truth, Katrina had just been saying that, hoping it would make him feel better.

It was scary to think the empress might stumble across their plot. If she did, they would be wiped out. However it might happened, it would surely further the empress’ plans, whatever they were.

That wasn’t fair. She wouldn’t let that happen. If they stayed focused, they would get this done quickly and then they could leave.

Leave and never know for sure that they were safe.

Nothing seemed to have a neat ending, no matter who she wracked her brain for answers.

At length, she reached out and carefully unbuttoned Cullen’s shirt, letting her knuckles brush against his chest as she slipped her hand down to each new button. “Do you regret stepping down as thane?”

He seemed taken aback by her question, attention finally leaving the streets below. “What?”

“I can tell you don’t want to be here,” Katrina said, trying not to sound like the wounded party. After all, the fact that he was even involved in this felt like it was more her fault than anything. “If you went back, could you be thane again?”

“No,” he replied. For the first time in days, he didn’t sound aggravated. When she let her gaze wander back to his, he leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers. “Truthfully, I never wanted to be thane. I just…didn’t want to disappoint my people, my father. So I took the role and felt myself rot in it.” He kissed her nose. “Until you came.”

“If that’s not the problem, then…”

“I don’t like being useless.”

“Who does?” Katrina asked, pressing her fingers against his bare chest and then moving her hands up slowly across his skin. When they reached his shoulders, she pushed his shirt back. He was more than relieved to let the fabric fall away.

A cough from Morrigan stopped her before she could go any further. While their room was a decent size, with a sitting area attached to a room with four beds, there was no door between the bedchambers and common area.

It made any intimacy rather hard to come by.

Thwarted as they were, Cullen didn’t seem to mind. He pulled Katrina into his lap and caught her lips with his, pressing forward until he was over her, her back against the bench. His mouth molded against hers each time they shifted, desperate and hungry.

As he trailed kisses down her neck, a hunk of bread hit the window beside them.

“Lest you wish me to leave with the journals, you’ll desist.”

…-…

Cullen groaned as a hand shook his shoulder. “Cullen…”

He tried to grumble a what, but the word didn’t reach his lips. In its place came out a barely decipherable growl.

“I want to show you something…”

It took a few more whispers and several nips to his ear and neck before Katrina finally got him up. “We’d better be under attack,” he muttered as he finally sat up, doing his best to blink the sleep from his eyes. It took a moment longer for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The sun hadn’t even risen yet, and everyone else was curled up in bed asleep. Rosalie and Zevran were snuggled together on top of their bedsheets, despite the warmth of the night—there truly was no reprieve from this heat, and he was beginning to see why Katrina had grumbled about the cold as much as she did.

It seemed his entire family was incapable of following Avvar traditions when it came to partners. Mia had just gone with the man she loved, Cullen had forgone stealing Katrina, Rosalie was opting not to be stolen, too.

Even Branson had forgone their traditions, though his little brother liked to think that Cullen didn’t know. Unlike the rest of them, Branson couldn’t very well stay with his partner without leaving the hold, as the mage had refused to part with his teacher. Mages who kept their teachers within them were not allowed to stay in holds, lest something ill befall them.

That was perhaps the only reason that Branson had never harped on Mia’s leaving, the way Rosalie and Cullen had. He’d already been breaking the rules.

Though if the Gods were offended, they certainly weren’t making any disapproval known.

It wasn’t until he was halfway up the ladder that Cullen realized Katrina had led him out of the room. She was already standing on the roof, peering down at him and motioning for him to hurry up.

Cullen tried to blink the sleep from his eyes, shaking his head once to clear his thoughts. He really couldn’t afford to be letting his mind wander while they were enemy territory like this.

When he reached the top of the ladder, Katrina took his hand and carefully led him across the room until they reached one of the chimneys. When they were there, she settled down and patted the roof beside her. “Sit.”

He eyed her before obliging.

“Is there a reason we’re up here?”

“Yes.”

He waited a moment before finally sighing. “Are you going to tell me this reason?”

Scooting over until they were shoulder to shoulder, she looped her arm around his. “Patience, my dear man. Just…breathe, alright?”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “We shouldn’t leave ourselves so open.”

“If we never did anything we shouldn’t do, life would be most dull.” She sat up a little straighter, as though trying to make herself an authority on the matter. “Now if you don’t at least try to relax, I shall have to make your life unbearable.”

Like it wasn’t getting there on its own.

Even as he started to argue, Katrina caught his chin and turned his head forward.

They were facing the east, and the sun had just reached the harbor, barely visible in the distance beyond the rows and rows of roofs sprawling out before them. The ships were little more than toys rocking in the distance as the first light of day reached them.

The water sparkled, the clouds bloomed in shades of pinks and oranges, chasing the deep blues and scattered stars peeking out between the fluffy clouds out of the sky. More than that, though, the rooftops lit up as well, browns and reds, blazing in the early morning light, with the occasional silver and gold of a tall statue.

It was as though the city’s colors were just now bursting to life for him. The light swept further and further across the city, and for the first time, the Lowlands seemed to sparkle and glow.

…-…

Cullen watched the sunrise, jaw slacked, and Katrina could practically feel the tension seeping out of him. Overnight, she’d been thinking about how she could help him. He’d mentioned feeling useless, and she’d doubted simply telling him that he was her strength would help him much in that regards. Then, as she’d finally been drifting to sleep, she’d thought of the way she’d felt that first time she’d watched a sunrise in the mountains, sitting there with Cullen.

Surely, something regarding the Lady could help ease his heart, at least a little.

And so she’d snuck out of their rooms and wandered their inn until she found a way to the roof. Then she’d gotten him and well…

It was working.

As the day continued to brighten, she was tempted to just stay up there forever, though she knew better. The others were likely already up and panicking that they were missing. She’d left a note beside Amelia, but her sister would probably fret anyway.

Cullen let out a soft laugh, bending his neck so that he could kiss her. She turned where she sat, meeting his lips in earnest.

“I should probably stop you before you fall off the roof.”

An Orlesian voice interrupted—could they truly not find a moment’s reprieve in this gods-forsaken city? How long had it been since they’d managed to have some time to themselves?

Katrina felt like she might scream as Cullen looked over his shoulder and all that tension she’d just managed to rid him of returned thrice over. However, as she peered past him, she forgot about sunrises and trysts.

An elven woman stood a few feet away from them, balanced skillfully on the sloping roof, arms crossed. She was darker skinned than most of the people Katrina had seen around Orlais with a beautiful swarthy complexion. Her mahogany hair had been pulled back into a tight bun and the sunlight highlighted her delicate ears.

However, all of that fell away as Katrina saw the mask she wore.

While she wasn’t familiar with most of them—in part, she refused to acquaint herself with most of them on the simple principle that Orlais was detestable and truly did not deserve so much attention—but she knew this one.

“I see the recognition in your eyes, so allow me a proper introduction before any weapons are drawn.” The elf bowed elegantly, as though they were in the middle of a court, instead of on top of a roof. “I am Briala, spymaster to the exalted Empress Celene.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! 
> 
> I am going to be out of town from the 16th to the 23rd, and I will likely not have access to uploading and all that. I will try to get one more chapter up before I leave, but if nothing's up by the 16th, just expect an update on the 24th.


	27. Plucking at the Web

Fuck.

“ _I see the recognition in your eyes, so allow me a proper introduction. I am Briala, spymaster of the exalted Empress Celene_.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Of course the second Cullen let his guard down someone would show up to attack them. He was never going to trust any of Katrina’s small outings to get him to lighten up again.

As his hand went instinctively to his hip only to grasp at air—his sword was back in their room—he cursed quietly to himself. At least they were on the same page there, though… When she looked over at him, she could see that he was debating if he ought to rush the elf before she could do whatever it was that she planned to do. Trying to think of how to keep things at least partially in their favor, Katrina moved up closer to him, pulling his hand around her waist.

At first he was puzzled. No doubt, his mind had stuck on the fact that Katrina had never seemed much like the type to want to be defended. However, as she slipped his hand around her, she made sure his palm brushed over the cool grip of a dagger tucked into the back of her belt. In her half-awake giddiness to show him something nice, she was sort of amazed that she’d managed to think of self-defense at all.

While a dagger wasn’t something Cullen would normally fight with, she had a feeling that having _some_ type of weapon would make him feel marginally better.

“ _Please_ ,” Briala held her hands up, empty. She likely saw some of Cullen’s confidence return, and would have even if she hadn’t been a spymaster. He was rather easy to read, when it came to his emotions—something she treasured, even if it might get them killed now. After all, she was generally an open book, too, wasn’t she? “ _Surely there is no reason we cannot be civil for a moment_?”

“ _You intend to kill us_ ,” Katrina hissed, giving up on any attempt at a foreign accent and letting her Starkhaven inflections shine through. If this elf was indeed the empress’ spymaster, there was hardly a need to insult her with such a simple attempt at a disguise. “ _I don’t to see what civility_ would _be found in that_.”

“ _I_ intend _to speak with you and learn more of your intentions, dear lady_ ,” Briala replied, a carefully groomed smile in place. Behind her mask, Katrina could barely see the glimmer of her eyes. “ _For example, it has become somewhat noticeable to those who pay attention that something—or one—seems to be working against our great empress_.”

Katrina straightened up a little, as much as she could on the awkward slope of the roof. She wanted to stand, truth be told, but feared the action would incite some sort of conflict. Instead, she shifted her weight to her knees, ignoring the pinch of the roof tiles beneath her. “ _She’s not_ my _empress_.”

“ _But she did avenge your dear sister, did she not_?” Briala paused, appraising the two of them carefully. “ _You are Katrina, yes? I would assume, in the least, that the one sneaking off with an Avvar gentleman would be not the pirate twin_.”

Katrina drew in a slow, measured breath to steady herself. There was no sense in getting flustered or indignant. That would leave her susceptible to damn near anything and had to be what this elf wanted.

From the corner of her vision, she could see Cullen frown. Likely, he couldn’t quite keep up with all that was being said, something that would lend to his already considerable unease. They were exactly where Briala wanted them.

What was that Avvar saying about Lowlanders’ greatest weapons being their words?

She’d just have to show him that as much as she liked the mountains, she was a Lowlander, too. Surely she wasn’t completely incompetent, even if she never had liked politics. Perhaps she could buy them enough time for…

For what? For Amelia to wake up and see her note, to find the way to the roof and come with an arsenal?

That seemed a little farfetched.

Cullen’s fingers curled around the dagger’s hilt, but Katrina reached out and squeezed his other hand, warning him to wait.

When she realized that Briala was still patiently awaiting an answer to her question, Katrina frowned. “ _She set me up to be murdered_.”

“ _And what would make you say that, dear lady? Have you any proof of so strong an allegation_?” Briala paced easily across the roof, stopping a few feet short of them, unconcerned with any attempts they might make against her. “ _Whoever you’ve been talking to in the woods seems to have rattled your mind_.”

Cullen scowled. “ _She is fine_.”

For the first time, Briala seemed to really look at him. Her head tipped to one side, arms crossed so casually, as though they were discussing the weather and not treason. “ _That is quite an accent. It is no wonder no one believed that you were Ferelden_.” She paused, shrugging. “ _If it is any consolation, even with a perfect accent, you would have had trouble. You do not smell of wet dog as they do_.”

Rather than try to respond, Cullen simply glared.

“ _What is this, then_?” Katrina asked. She glanced around the rooftop, half expecting other assassins to be lurking—that was what a spymaster was, wasn’t it? A glorified assassin? The three of them seemed to be alone, however. Katrina wondered how true that actually was. “ _You intend to persuade us not to act against the empress any further_?”

“ _So you admit that you do_?” Briala cocked her head the other way. “ _Act against her_?”

Katrina stiffened. Of course she was giving secrets away left and right. What half-dazed stupor had made her think she could take on an Orlesian in a game of words, even if it was their only option? It was almost better that they just run for the ladder. The elf might be carrying a weapon, but perhaps if they were fast enough…

Even if Cullen was, Katrina wasn’t. He’d stay back to keep her safe and…

What to do, what to do? She could try to play off words, try to misdirect, try to…

Or she could just face that she was the way she was and go with that.

It had worked well enough for her thus far, had it not?

Cullen seemed to sense the change that came over her. “Be careful, love—”

“ _We do. We most certainly act against that vile_ thing _you call an empress. She is an arrogant monster who overreaches and doesn’t even recognize the worth of any life aside from her own_.” Katrina held her head up a bit prouder. “ _I’d rather stand against that than enable it any day_.”

“ _And you are so different from her_?” Briala asked, shifting her weight and standing a bit taller herself.

That she would even ask that was offensive, but Katrina managed to keep her wits about her. She had a feeling if it came down to a fight, Cullen would be the first target, as he was clearly better built for combat than she ever would be. She wouldn’t be able to defend him, and she didn’t want to see what tricks the spymaster might have that could bring him down. “ _I do not manipulate others to further myself, no_.”

Briala laughed faintly. “ _You Marchers are so literal. Let me rephrase: Were it not for her actions against you, would you even care what manipulations she did_?”

That gave Katrina pause. If Amelia had never run away from home, if the Comte had not been a bastard, would she have ever looked at the empress long enough to see anything other than a distant ruler who meant next to nothing to her? And even if she had, would she have left the safety of Starkhaven, if her own family was safe? Her gaze dropped slightly, and she took in a breath before meeting Briala’s expectant stare again. “ _I like to think I would have. I suppose I can’t know, for sure, as this is how things played out_.”

One corner of Briala’s lips quirked. “ _You are as honest as they say. It is a pity you could not be more discrete in your actions. Were you born a rogue or a thief, you might have gotten further_.”

Katrina glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was sneaking up on them and then looked back at the elf. She still stood where she’d been when Katrina had taken her eyes off of her. “ _So what now? Is there to be a daring fight? Or are you here to tell us we’ve been poisoned somehow, and you’re just making sure it works_?”

“ _My, but you do have quite the imagination_ ,” Briala laughed. This time, she dared to step a pace or two closer. “ _Keep your man in check and let us find some common ground_.”

Cullen hissed something too soft for Katrina to make out beside her, and she glanced at him to see that he did indeed look ready to simply tackle Briala off the roof. He might die in the process, but he’d take his enemy down with him. Katrina squeezed his hand again. “ _I somehow doubt we will_.”

“ _I told you that I am the empress’ spymaster, but that is not entirely accurate_.”

“ _So you admit you lie_ ,” Cullen hissed.

“ _In a word, yes. I wanted to see what you would do_ ,” Briala replied. “ _Would you try to backtrack, claim there to be a misunderstanding? Would you praise the great empress of Orlais in desperation, praying for favor? Would you prove to be just as loathsome and miserable as every Orlesian noble I’ve spent my life watching and gathering notes on_?”

“ _The journals are yours_ ,” Cullen murmured, without thinking.

“ _An astute assumption, though, again somewhat inaccurate_.” Briala let her arms swing down to her sides briefly before crossing them, never taking her gaze off of them, even once. “ _While I was the one to pen them, they are my former lady’s work. Do not doubt that_.”

“ _So you helped her manipulate all these people? The Avvar_?” Katrina asked, eyes narrowed.

At that, Briala frowned. For the first time, she lowered her gaze, and it felt almost as though her mask had slipped. “ _I did a great many things for my empress, but I always felt that I was doing what was right. I was wrong. Celene…the empress, as you so eloquently stated, does not care for any life that is not her own_.” She walked over to them at this point, kneeling before where they were still crouched. “ _I would use my past mistakes to make things better_.”

Katrina and Cullen exchanged a wary glance. Cullen was looking to Katrina questioningly, as though she—being a Lowlander—would be able to decipher what was truth and what was fiction. Maybe if she’d ever learned to play this damnable game, she could have.

Finally, she looked back at the elf. “ _You want us to give you the journals, don’t you_?”

“ _I want to use them_ ,” Briala clarified, standing back up. “ _As great as people claim the Orlesian Empire to be, there is much that needs fixing. I would use those journals to…persuade change_.”

With a quiet swear, Katrina was tempted to use her damn knife herself. That this elf would be so blunt… to admit that she planned blackmail and to do exactly what was being done over and over in this country…

Though, Katrina and Cullen had fallen to this too, hadn’t they? Their noble allies were…no. They returned secrets, rather than using them against their owners. Surely, that was different?

Did Briala think they could be manipulated so easily?

And how could she be so calm? Even crouching, it had to be obvious that Cullen was far larger than the elf, that he would probably be able to take her in a fight.

For the first time, Katrina thought to look past their own roof, to those surrounding them. Something glinted near another chimney from the shadows cast opposite that glorious, rising sun.

Archers.

Of course.

Had she been more awake, she probably would have figured that out sooner. Or maybe not. Betrayal and sabotage had never been high on her list of pastimes.

Cullen seemed to have picked up on their standing as well—probably before Katrina had. He wasn’t debating trying to cut the snake’s head off first and just hoping after they were dead that the rest of the body would flail and die, was he?

Realizing that Katrina had no insight to offer, Cullen eyed Briala carefully before finally asking. “ _Expansionism_?”

With an abrupt laugh, Briala threw her head back, most amused by the concept. “ _No, my dear Avvar. You think of Gaspard. I have no interest in what lies in those wild mountains of yours. I care for what lies here, forgotten and abandoned in the very cities that are supposed to be so grand_.”

Even as Cullen knit his brow together, lost in her words, Katrina hesitated. “ _The elves. You want to help your people_.”

“ _I do_.”

Katrina slowly rose to her feet. Her knees hurt from pressing against the roof tiles for too long. Cullen followed her lead, rising up to tower over both ladies. Katrina thought she saw one of those glints of light shift in the distance. “ _We wish to save the Avvar from the empress, and you wish to save the elves from her_.”

“ _I wish to initiate change that will allow my people to be more than forgotten, broken,_ offending _husks shoved away in the darker parts of cities, where those up top need not cast their gaze_.” The vitriol in Briala’s voice seemed most uncharacteristic. Her mask was slipping indeed. She took a moment to inspect the two of them before adding, “ _Both are noble causes, do you not agree_?”

“ _If they are both true, then yes_ ,” Katrina whispered.

At that, Briala straightened up a little, her mask falling skillfully back into place to conceal her emotions. She appraised Katrina before a well-coached curiosity towed up the corners of her mouth. “ _You want to believe, but you cannot. You think I work for the empress still. That I would use my people as an elaborate rouse so that I may trick you and present the woman who betrayed me and my loyalty your heads on a platter. I should think I would have to hate myself a great deal to stoop to such levels_.”

“ _You forget, Lady Briala_ —” The elf laughed at Katrina’s use of a title, and she felt a little thrown off. Gathering herself, she tried again. “ _You forget that I have been living in the damned woods this last half year. That I’ve had people wearing one banner and working for another fucking kidnap and try to murder me. That I’ve uncovered a web of manipulation and cruelty larger than anything I honestly thought any one person could be capable of that has spanned decades. I have found that the darker aspects of our ‘civilized’ culture go so much further down than anything I could have dreamed of. My own father was willing to cast out both Amelia and myself for the sake of social standing. So to answer your question, yes. If you are in league with that monster, I don’t doubt you would use a plight on par or worse than what the Avvar face to get us to believe you_.”

“ _You think the Avvar’s plight is on par with that of the elves_?”

“ _I think they have lost homes and holy places and lives to the empress’ machinations. I think that she started a backlash toward them that she can’t control without the grand duke playing his part—which he has not. The Avvar are being forced from their homes. They are being hunted and killed. She pits clans against one another to keep them distracted from what she does within their lands, lands she has no claim to. I am not saying it is on as grand a scale as what has been done to the elves, and I would be lying if I said I knew the full plight of the elves, but there are similarities. Both groups suffer at her hands, do they not_?”

“ _Which is why we should work together_ ,” Briala surmised.

Even as Katrina opened her mouth to argue that as nice as it would be to believe, it wasn’t something that could exactly be taken on word, as that was just as like to end with them having their heads on pikes or a platter, as Briala had said, Cullen lightly moved his hand up from the small of her back and leaned down to her, whispering in her ear a single word.

“Cole.”

At that, Briala’s brow pinched together, her larger ears easily having picked up what he’d said. “ _What_?”

“ _If you truly wish to work with us_ ,” Katrina said, standing up a little straighter, “ _then there’s someone you must meet_.”

…-…

“ _The two of you are daft_!” Amelia cried out, pacing back and forth through the room. “ _Completely, ridiculously daft_!” She’d abandoned the Antivan accent, much as Katrina had.

Cullen sat on their bed, watching the angry sister move, feeling too tired from having tried to keep up with the earlier slew of words to bother to keep up now.

He knew the gist of it. They’d parted ways with the spymaster or whatever the elf was—he wondered if she would she still be considered a spymaster if she no longer worked for the empress—to find Cole. When they were ready to meet, they were to go to the elven lass who cleaned the inn—the one with the black braids that ran down her back like twin waterfalls—and tell her. The message would be relayed.

It surprised him that someone so close to them had been working for Briala, spying on them, and none of them had so much as noticed.

Apparently their every move had been under scrutiny since the second they’d arrived, and at no fault of the nobles they’d rounded up for help. Cullen had noticed the servants watching them from time to time, but had never seen the same face staring in their direction more than once—not that he could have easily told with all the masks. If anyone else had employed the mask swapping as they had, it was no wonder that he’d missed them.

It should have crossed his mind that they were being tracked.

He _had_ looked. He’d tried to memorize every face they saw, but there were too damned many people here. He’d tried to keep an eye out for people who seemed particularly interested in them, but with all the bustle and movement, it had happened right under his very gaze without him any the wiser.

That seemed to upset Rosalie more than it did him, considering she was the better tracker. She was quietly sulking in her own corner, with Zevran seated beside her, a comforting hand a bit high on her thigh.

Cullen grunted at the notion, choosing to mind his own business—after all, if Rosalie didn’t want that hand there, it wouldn’t be—and turned away. Katrina was arguing with her sister that they weren’t daft at all, but instead quite brilliant.

If Cole said that Briala was telling the truth, then that would mean that the elf could be entrusted with the journals. Being so entrenched in politics, and with the way the elves could move through the city, they would be far more efficient than Cullen and his blundering group of well-meaning misfits.

And it would be pushing Orlesian politics back into Orlais, which was what he wanted anyway, wasn’t it?

The only problem with their plan was that Cole came and went as he pleased, and half their party didn’t know that he existed. Katrina had asked Morrigan if she could perhaps cast a spell to draw Cole back to them, and Amelia had—again—been adamantly against it. While she couldn’t remember Cole, she could remember that magic was being suggested.

According to her, if they cast magic in the city, templars would catch wind and kill the whole lot of them for harboring an apostate.

Cullen had to say he was surprised at how incredibly terrified the Lowlands seemed to be of magic. He could hardly imagine his clan dealing with dire problems without being able to turn to their augur to contact the Gods for help. It was such a bizarre and lonely culture.

If he’d grown up in a world like this, what had happened at the Veilfire Caverns would have likely broken him, scarring him forever toward magic—especially considering he wouldn’t have had Gods to help numb the memories so that he could move on.

He was fortunate, he supposed.

That meant that, without Morrigan casting—she might just to spite the Lowlands, in all honesty—they were going to have to wait for Cole to return to them. Cullen had already offered a few prayers, but he wasn’t sure that the God could hear him over the noise of the city.

Cole had murmured once, in his own, odd way, when they’d first gotten to Val Royeaux, that there were too many hurts. It made him deaf.

So instead, they sat there, listening to Amelia berate them as they waited for Cole to return from wherever he was, to offer insight into nobles whose hearts weren’t yet turned to stone.

Cullen noticed him first.

While Amelia was mid rant about idiocy, Cole was suddenly sitting beside Cullen, swinging his feet back and forth so that the soles of his shoes barely scraped the floor.

“ _Not now, not ever. Always too careless. Careful steps into dragon’s breath and not a hair singed. That can’t always happen, though, can it? Luck runs out and so does the life with it. Have to keep her safe. But how, when she thinks she must do the same for me?_ ” Cole quieted a moment before sighing, his shoulders slumping down. “She worries. Katrina always falls, and someday there might not be anyone to catch her. If the little sister keeps running the way she does, that day will be sooner than later. She might see it happen. I tried to make her see that you will keep her safe, but there are too many monsters in the shadows. She fears you cannot fight them all.”

“Perhaps they are not all the monsters we think?” Cullen asked, turning to face Cole.

The boy tilted his head, his shaggy hair obscuring the top half of his face, save for one piercing eye. “ _Hope. Hope with pointed ears and twisting words. Maybe not all Lowlands words are as malicious as the stories say. Can both sides win? Only if there’s a third_ …” With a simple nod, Cole’s feet stilled. “I will speak with her. You lead, and I will follow.”

With a blink, Cullen was sitting alone on the bed again.

Even as Amelia began to go down a rather long list of instances of when Katrina had made poor life choices while in Starkhaven, Cullen rose to his feet and walked over to them. He held out one hand between the sisters, his other resting on Katrina’s shoulder. “ _We need to let them know that we’ll meet them_.”

“ _Now_?” Amelia hissed. “ _Why now_?”

“ _We have our reasons_ ,” Katrina replied, only to sigh immediately afterward when Amelia snapped that being ambiguous did nothing to help them.

After another moment of arguing futilely against them, Amelia finally caved when Morrigan and Rosalie sided with Cullen. Shoulders slumping, she hesitated before finally a bit of her hardheadedness returned to puff her up. “ _How’s this, then? We meet them at the docks at midnight_.”

“ _That sounds a bit ominous, Ams_ ,” Katrina muttered. “ _And melodramatic. Why can’t we just_ —”

“ _Trust me_?” Amelia snapped. “ _We meet them at the docks at midnight, or I will make your life utterly miserable_.”  

“ _Well, considering we might die soon, anyway_ —”

“ _We will do as you ask_ ,” Cullen interrupted Katrina before she could really set Amelia off. He could only imagine what growing up with the two of them under the same roof would have been like. “ _You think the docks will be safer than other places_?”

“ _I think choosing our own location will give us an advantage_.”

“ _They know the whole fucking city, Ams_ ,” Katrina scoffed, before Cullen could stop her. “ _Do you really think we’ll have an advantage anywhere in this damned city_?”

Katrina _did_ have a point.

Throwing her hands in the air, Amelia looked as though she were considering just strangling her sister herself to spare their enemies the effort. Finally, however, she simply shook her head. “ _Trust. Me_.”

“ _We do_ ,” Cullen said, his tone firm.

The rest of their party had been watching the proceedings with varying degrees of interest and understanding. Zevran hadn’t been able to translate what was happening for Rosalie and so she’d left him for the time being to sit uninvited or wanted on Morrigan’s mattress, prodding the Wolf to fill her in on the goings on.

Until this point, Morrigan’s voice had been a steady thrum in the background as she monotonously relayed the sisters’ words. Zevran sat alone, tossing a dagger idly into the air and then catching it before it could fall and impale his leg. One of his ears twitched as he felt Cullen’s gaze on him, and he returned with a friendly stare, head cocking.

“ _Is something the matter, dear thane_?”

“ _I’m not_ …” Cullen sighed.

“ _Do you think the docks are a wise choice?”_ Katrina asked him before Cullen could decide if the correction was worth it or not.

“ _I think that it is quite fine. None of us know the city well, so choosing a location will, in the very least, make them at least a little paranoid as to why we would do something of the like. What have we up our sleeves_?” He smirked, only for his face to fall. “ _Though that may backfire. They may bring more forces against us than are truly necessary. Overkill, if you will_.”

“ _Perhaps only a few of us should go_ ,” Katrina offered. “ _And with just a few of the books. Or should we bring them at all? Should we hide them instead? Hide them and split up in case something goes awry_?”

Taking in a slow breath so that it puffed her cheeks before letting it out, Amelia shook her head. “ _If you met the empress’ former—or current—spymaster, then she already knows exactly how many of us there are_.”

“ _If we separate, we will be easier to pick off_ ,” Cullen agreed, shifting a little. The idea of leaving themselves so vulnerable…if their entire party was wiped out, everything would just keep going as it had been…

“ _And any attempt to hide the books would likely be noted by those watching us_ ,” Zevran added.

Perhaps Katrina was right to put more faith in the Gods than he’d been doing. This certainly seemed like something they would need.

Despite a few other snappy comments between the twins, they settled on their plan, and Zevran volunteered to go find the maid. He was back within half an hour, laughing as he said how cross she was that he insisted they go to his meeting spot instead of the one she had been told to relay to them.

Cullen wasn’t sure if he was relieved or unnerved by that. Were they throwing a wrench in Briala’s plans or countering an ambush? Was there actually an ambush to counter? Could they trust her?

It gave him a headache to even think about.

The rest of the day was miserable. It dragged on and on, though midafternoon, Amelia insisted she head out to take care of things—the usual.

Cullen didn’t even consider the ‘usual’ wouldn’t be necessary if Briala proved to be an ally, until after he heard the door clicking shut behind her.

Shortly after, Zevran excused himself to lead Rosalie to some place he’d found in the city—near and quite safe, he assured Cullen without prompting. As Zevran laced fingers with Rosalie and led her from the room, Morrigan raised her gaze from the book she’d been reading—it was new, to Cullen’s surprise, and he wondered just where or when she’d had the time to get it—and frowned. “I can see the hope in your eyes, so let me squelch it now. I’ll not be ousted so you might have a go at one another.”

“What are you reading?” Katrina asked, rather than argue. It was nice to hear the Avvar tongue being used again, and Cullen felt like a strain on his ears had been lifted.

“Annoying me will get you nowhere.”

“I’m annoying you by asking what you’re reading?”

Even as Cullen slid back on his bed and tried to hide his smile, Morrigan lowered her book and eyed the two of them. “I am reading about templars and mages. Amelia has warned me of the dangers that such fighters can present, and I wish to be educated, should I encounter them.”

At that, Katrina wandered a bit closer and frowned. “You know the templars aren’t going to leave their secrets lying about for just anyone find and write about. If word got out to all the mages, then their techniques wouldn’t be much good, I don’t think.” She leaned forward and frowned. “The author’s name sound’s Tevinter, too. Their templars are different from the ones down here.”

“There is a difference?”

“Ours are better at fighting malificar—bad mages, I think,” Katrina offered. “To be honest, I don’t really know what they do, aside from guard against magic.”

“As though ‘tis something that needs to be guarded against,” Morrigan scoffed. “Though it would explain why the templars seem to defer to mages in this text. They seem more like glorified bodyguards.” She paused a tick before adding, “Quite enamored bodyguards.”

Katrina abruptly seemed to understand something and carefully took the book from Morrigan, as though expecting Morrigan to try to set her alight for the indignity of stealing her precious words, and flipped it over to read the small print on the back. “…Morrigan, a word of advice on Lowlands’ culture?” When Morrigan eyed her, Katrina handed back the book, “Anything with the word magister referring to mages is most definitely Tevinter, and any—and I mean _any_ —book that has the word ‘tawdry’ used to describe it’s plot on the back is not to be treated as nonfiction.” She hesitated before adding, “Unless it’s like, ‘You won’t believe this tawdry tale is true, yet it is…’ or something like that.”

With a scowl, Morrigan held up the book. “If this is not to be read as truth, then what is it’s purpose?”

“That…” Katrina clasped her hands together and then pointed with her index fingers, “would be the sort of thing my mother and her friends would read in some quiet parlor to get themselves flustered.”

“What?”

“It’s a sex book, Morrigan,” Katrina snapped, growing impatient. “A story with a dubious plot that may or may not be decently written because the point of it is to tell tales of naughty bits, and people allowing themselves to throw caution to the wind and have illicit love affairs, and sordid trysts.”

“There is no truth to this book?”

Though Katrina at first seemed ready to confirm the mage’s fears, she hesitated. “If the writer did their research, then perhaps it could be accurate. But if it’s anything like the other types of this sort of fiction, then no. It’s probably riddled with inaccuracies.”

Wandering over to them, Cullen slipped his arms around Katrina’s waist, tugging her back into him. It felt like the first time since they’d gotten to the Lowlands that he could really relax. Odd that this would happen. Perhaps it was just the calm before everything fell to pieces.

Trying to push that thought aside and cling to the simplicity of the moment, Cullen nuzzled Katrina’s hair. “You have a lot of experience with this sort of book?”

He grinned when he saw her ears turn a bit red.

“My mother has an entire stash and when I was younger I…borrowed a few to see the appeal.”

His lips brushed against her ear as he dipped his head. “Did you?”

“Let’s just say I prefer my trysts to be of flesh rather than ink,” Katrina said, turning toward him. He couldn’t help but grin at that.

“We’re likely to die in a few hours.”

He and Katrina looked back at Morrigan. The flush from Katrina’s cheeks was gone, as was the smile that had been towing up the corners of her mouth. “Why the fuck would you say something like that?”

“Because I don’t have a tent to enchant to keep the noise out.”

 Katrina scowled, crossing her arms pointedly as she leaned further into Cullen. “I’m not that loud.”

“Regardless of what you may or may not be, please consider that you are not alone. After tonight, should things go well, we may part ways and the two of you are welcome to lose one another in each other’s embrace for as long as…it won’t matter to me. I won’t be here.”

“Fair enough,” Katrina murmured. She hesitated a moment, twisting her mouth to the side. “But that does beg the question as to what we do for the next few hours. We won’t need to leave until after sundown.”

Morrigan had produced another new text in the time it took Katrina to speak. The back must not have mentioned magisters or tawdriness, for she was content to flip it over and start reading, not bothering to dismiss the couple beside her.

“That game.”

With a blink, Katrina turned a little in his grasp to look up at him. “Game?”

“You and Zevran played it once or twice before.” Cullen murmured, motioning toward the other room in their chambers. It had been a curious thing to watch, the way the two of them had moved the little pieces across the board whilst they spoke about nobles and who they might make pacts with.

Cullen had been too busy brooding to participate in the conversation, though that game had attracted his attention.

As Katrina sat down at the board, she looked up at him and grinned. “This is chess. I’ve a feeling you’ll be quite good at it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I think I said last time, I will be out of town from this Saturday to next Saturday, so no update next week. Regular posting should resume the week after, and the next chapter should be the last one, though I might break it up, depending on how long it gets. 
> 
> It's been so much fun to write this story, and I can't believe it's almost over! Thank you all for reading, and see you next update!


	28. A Night to Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the last chapter, but it got really, really long, so I split it up into two. The last chapter will be posted next week, and there is going to be an epilogue. Thank you to everyone for reading!

“I’m sorry.”

Katrina scowled toward her shoes as Cullen leaned down to whisper his apology in her ear. “Would you stop that already?”

“I just…” He straightened up, looking somewhat helpless. Instantly, she felt guilty. “You’re clearly upset.”

Her irritation won out against her guilt. “I’m not upset.”

“You…why are you lying?” Cullen asked in a huff, scratching at the back of his neck.

At that, Zevran sidled up beside them, and patted Cullen on the arm. “ _What’s this, then_?”

“ _We were playing chess_.”

Despite being annoyed with him, she couldn’t help but smile as Cullen’s accent punctuated his common. He always sounded so handsome. Perhaps that was just her bias, but she did adore that man.

“ _Oh ho, you beat her_?” As he asked, Zevran moved back to the lamppost he’d been leaning against, settling to wait once more.

Even as Cullen hesitated, Katrina sighed. “ _Ten out of ten games_.”

“ _Nine out of ten_ ,” Cullen corrected. “ _You won the last one_.”

“No, you let me win,” Katrina snapped, switching back to Avvar, arms crossed as she scanned the area, waiting for Briala or one of her people to show up for the meeting. There was still fifteen minutes until the scheduled time, but neither Briala nor Amelia had deemed it necessary to show up early. That was making Katrina on edge as it was, without Cullen taking pity on her.

“Is that why you’re angry?”

“I’m not angry.”

Truly, she’d thought he’d have a penchant for chess, but she hadn’t expected him to get the hang of it halfway through their first game, and then to mop the floor with her. She’d been dumbstruck. The first win, she’d attributed to beginner’s luck. By the fourth, she decided either she was genuinely terrible at this game or Cullen was just brilliant beyond reason.  

“I have played a version of that game before. The pieces looked different, but the rules were very similar.” He paused to consider it. “Actually, we probably just assigned the moves to the wrong pieces, now that I think of it.”

Katrina stopped in her tracks and turned slowly to eye him. “You’ve played chess before?”

“Well, yes, possibly? Something like it. I used to play Mia.”

Well. That made a bit more sense, didn’t it? Not that she didn’t think he was brilliant, but well…to pick up chess _so_ quickly would be…

“It was one of mother’s old trinkets. I was getting to that one,” Rosalie murmured. She stood quietly beside Katrina, arms crossed across her chest and brow ever so slightly knit together. For her to show so much emotion was surprising indeed. Rosalie was as tense as Katrina was, gaze flicking about at every rat’s squeak and shutter’s bang. It felt like there were too many shadows around them.

Where the fuck was Amelia?

Had something happened to her? Had she been picked off by one of Briala’s people? By one of the empress’? Were they even different networks?

How horribly ironic would it be if Katrina did all this nonsense to save her sister only to end up being the one who led her to her death?

No.

No, no, no.

That wouldn’t happen. That _wouldn’t_ …

Turning to glare up at the two moons, Katrina wondered if the Lady of the Sky watched the Lowlands like she did the mountains. Could she see them where they were? Since her shaken faith in the Maker, Katrina had warmed up to the thought of Gods who interacted with their people, but these Gods were not as infallible as the Maker.

They were more like people.

It scared her a little, because she knew plenty of well-meaning people who failed to do whatever it was they sought.

“It will be alright.”

Cole’s voice was in her ear, though he wasn’t anywhere she could see when she looked around.

Regardless, that he was there calmed her nerves, if only a little.

Even as Cullen looped his arms around her waist and offered that he hadn’t known they would be playing the same game—one he apparently had learned years ago—the grand cathedral’s bells tolled out midnight.

Their grim band grew silent as the bells echoed over the city.

One of Morrigan’s hands was on the satchel with the books in it where it rested on her hip, the strap slung across her chest diagonally. To the people coming up, they would assume only one or two journals had been brought—at least that was what they were hoping. If they thought there were more journals to be retrieved, Briala and her people would be less likely to kill them if they were indeed still working for the empress.

Well, to kill them all.

Rosalie, Cullen, Morrigan, and Katrina looked around, waiting. Only Zevran seemed to be at ease. He was still leaning against a lamppost near the water, watching the waves lap at the sides of the boats and occasionally peering down the docks as though he expected to see something.

He was the one to notice Briala’s approach first, right as the bells fell silent. Pushing away from the post, he sauntered up to the others and grinned at the darkness, his eyes gleaming a bit as they reflected the light around them. “ _It is good to see you are so punctual_.”

This time, when Briala showed herself, there were several others with her. Katrina couldn’t help but wonder how Briala and the other elves had concealed their own eyes, for she could see no glimmer behind their masks. None of them were openly hostile, but they wore their weapons in plain sight. Katrina noticed Cullen’s hands go to rest on the pommel of his blade, where it hung on his hip. Rosalie kept her arms crossed at first, but then lifted one at the elbow to play with her hair. She could have her bow free from her shoulder in a second, if needed.

Katrina had to fight not to just draw her own weapons. Of everyone here, she was likely the least familiar with fighting, despite her training with Cullen. For a fair fight, she’d probably need her weapons drawn before anyone else.

That wouldn’t go over well, though, would it?

“ _I would not wish to keep such fiery and strong-willed allies waiting, lest you think me insincere.”_ Briala stopped a few feet short, so that she was close enough to talk comfortably with them. As she did, she fell into a fluid curtsey. Those behind her followed suit.

As Zevran returned the formality with a flourished, Antivan bow, Katrina dipped into an awkward curtsey—she’d always been terrible at them—and Cullen, Rosalie, and Morrigan thumped their right fists over their hearts in a salute.

Briala seemed most pleased by the display. Well, in the dark, it was harder to read what little of her face could be seen beneath her mask, but her lips did turn up at the corners.

“ _Now, then. Since we are all here, it is clear that we are at least willing to speak about the return of those journals you’ve been wielding, yes_?”

Before anyone else could speak, Cole’s voice rang out, loud and clear. _“They didn’t bring them. Careful, careful. Keep that smile in place. Don’t let them see how thin the rope is. One misstep and we’ll all be hung. Dangling like so many before us. No. No, no. We deserve better. We will_ have _better.”_

Briala and her people startled, scanning the area with an almost frantic touch. A few of them drew their weapons as Cole dropped down from where he’d been waiting on top of the lamppost. He wandered toward them, stopping when he stood beside Katrina and Cullen.

“You want to make things right, even if you have to do things wrong to get there,” Cole offered, nodding toward Briala respectfully. Katrina could have sworn he was speaking Avvar, though his words seemed to be just as clear to Briala as they were to her, and to Cullen. Perhaps the Gods didn’t need to speak any one language to be understood. “It’s how things work, and you can change it, but you have to have the power to change it first.” He lowered his eyes. “Everything worth having seems to be bought with blood. But maybe there needn’t be too much, if knees can be bent with words.”

“ _You ally yourself with demons_ ,” Briala whispered, though she did hold a hand out to stay her people from attacking.

“Not a demon,” Cole corrected, swaying a little as he picked at one of his gloves with his other hand. “I help.”

Katrina reached out carefully and tapped Cole on the shoulder. As she did so, it occurred to her that she was pretty sure that was the first time she’d ever touched the God before. He didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he turned an owlish gaze toward her. “Her desires are honest. The empress used her and broke her down, made her think scraps were full meals, but no more. She will see her people done justice. It will take time, but she will see it through.”

The elves who had approached them didn’t seem to know what to make of Cole, though Briala was the first to relax. She hesitated, appraising the young boy, before finally laughing. “ _I see why you wanted this meeting. A mask is useless against a mind-reader_.”

“Yes,” Cole agreed. “You wear yours well, though.”

Briala didn’t seem to mind as much when he spoke this time. After another pause, she motioned toward him and then the rest of them. “ _Forgive me, but to whom do I negotiate with? I’d assumed it would be the lady who set so much of this in motion_.” Her hand waved more specifically toward Katrina. “ _Now, I find myself unsure. Perhaps you play the Game better than I thought_.”

Before they could respond, another elf darted up to her and whispered something in her ear. Her ear twitched, and a frown graced her features for just a second. “ _I see_.”

“ _We…what is it_?” Katrina furrowed her brow, forgetting to explain that they were operating under more of a voting system than any one of them being completely in charge.

Briala cocked her head. “… _Dealing with you lot has truly been an experience. Never a dull moment_.” Even as Katrina and Cullen dared a confused glance toward one another, she dismissed whatever she’d just been told. “ _So then. I do hate to rush such a cordial event, but either we need to move from the docks, or simply conclude our affairs. The wicked never sleep, and Val Royeaux is always awake. About the journals_.”

At that, Morrigan stepped forward, arms crossed, stance a bit too casual. “ _We wish for Orlais to cease their attacks on our people. If we give you these journals, can you assure that the Avvar are not used to further Orlesian politics any further_?”

Rather than answer right away, Briala seemed to consider how to address Morrigan instead. “ _I am afraid I know little of you, dear lady. You are?_ ”

“ _Who I am is of no consequence to you_ ,” Morrigan replied, looking down her nose slightly at the elf. With her head held high, she shifted her weight, arms still crossed. “ _Can you assure our people’s safety_?”

“ _Now? Honestly, no_.” Briala said simply, with a shrug. “ _Our goals are to save our people, and we are already spread thin. We do not have the resources to fight two wars. However_ ,” she paced slowly to the side, “ _I can promise you that we have no interest in you. If we can gain enough power, we can make those exploiting the Avvar will fall from theirs, and their ability to reach so far into the mountains will crumble. It may take some time, but if you allow us that, we will build something better, something that will not threaten your way of life as ours flourishes_.”

At that, Zevran switched to Antivan, whispering to Katrina, “ _That is likely as good a deal as you will get. Further, it will remove you from these politics_.”

While Katrina agreed with it for the most part, she held her hand up before Morrigan could speak, switching back to common. “ _What about the people who want to attack the Avvar because they believe they’re more hostile than they are_?”

“ _Ah, you mean Celene’s attempt to paint Gaspard as the tyrant that he is_?” Briala quirked an eyebrow. “ _I can take care of that. A few letters in the right places, and I will be able to take down one of the empress’ strongest supporters as the one who set you up to be assassinated by hired hands dressed as Avvar. It will actually help our cause if people believe you to still be dead_.”

At that, Morrigan’s brow knit together. “ _But t’was it not the empress herself who did the deed_?”

One of the elves behind Briala scoffed, finally re-sheathing his dagger and crossing his arms. “ _You think anything set up against the empress herself would not be dismissed or squelched in a breath_?”

Morrigan let out a sharp humph at that response, though she didn’t argue. Zevran was the one to speak up. “ _Should the empress lose a close ally to something she was blaming on an enemy, it would hurt her far more than any attempt to say that she had done it herself. It would make it look like she does not know her people as well as she claims. It would lead to mistrust and, among her remaining allies, wonders as to how well they can actually be protected from scandal_.”

Briala nodded. “ _Precisely_.”

“ _So a war without blades_ ,” Cullen murmured, his words slow, but clear. “ _Like chess. Steal her pieces until she cannot defend herself_.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Briala nodded. “ _Give us the journals, and we will take away her ability to reach your people. It may be by inches, but I promise it will happen. The world will be better with Celene brought to heel, and Gaspard dealt with_.”

Cole nodded. “I like your plan, though I wouldn’t use so many decoys.”

“ _Why not_?” Briala asked, lips dipping into a frown.

“So many will be hurt,” Cole whispered.

With a sharp breath, Briala hesitated before finally nodding. “ _We know what we face, and we know what we must sacrifice for a better future. I will not force anyone to do what they cannot_.”

Cole didn’t reply.

Taking in a breath, Briala looked back at the rest of them. “ _Will you give us the journals_?”

They glanced at one another. Katrina hesitated before switching to Avvar, “I think we should do it. The results won’t be immediate, but they’ll be worth it.”

Cullen frowned and then looked to Morrigan. Katrina was surprised that Morrigan seemed to hold his gaze a second longer, waiting until he gave her a shallow nod to step up to Briala. She gripped the satchel’s strap. “ _We accept your terms_.”

Briala’s smile was radiant, even in the shadows cast from the lamppost under the light of the two moons. “ _Now then, I would love to know where you’ve hidden those books. We have been going mad trying to find them since we learned of your arrival. However, I fear that will have to wait, as we really must reconvene elsewhere. Very few of those here in power favor the idea of sharing with my people_.”

“ _Well, that is unnecessary. We can_ —”

Even as Morrigan moved to lift the strap, an arrow thudded into her shoulder with enough force that she spun into the ground.

…-…

Cullen’s sword was in hand in a breath as he gripped Katrina around the waist and tugged her behind a few crates stacked along the wharf. Another arrow thudded into one of Briala’s elves, though even as it struck home, Rosalie shot down the shooter. As she fired and sent another masked man tumbling from a rooftop, Zevran and Briala helped Morrigan back to her feet and behind another group of crates.

As Rosalie backed up, two of the elves helped with her retreat, all three of them firing at their assailants before taking cover. Rosalie joined Cullen and Katrina.

“Where’s Cole?” Katrina asked, almost frantic.

Even as Cullen dared to peer around to look for the God, he saw another figure fall off the rooftop. Cole crouched where their attacker had been before dropping down and disappearing into the shadows. Another arrow thudded into the crate beside him, and Cullen ducked back. “He’s fine.”

“Do you think the empress found out after all?” Rosalie asked, another arrow nocked as she peered around the corner of the crate and then fired quickly. Cullen didn’t have to check to know that it hit its mark.

“Even if they are her people, I bet they won’t be wearing her colors or masks,” Katrina spat, scowl in place. She jerked her hair back into a messy bun, ready to fight. He would have rather she just sat this one out—she wasn’t skilled enough to really hold her own yet, though he wasn’t about to point that out to her.

Cullen scowled, considering that his love’s words seemed to be true enough. Lowlanders didn’t seem able to do anything under their true colors. From the ones who had pretended to be Avvar, to the ones who had kidnapped Katrina, to the ones who had followed them, to Briala pretending to still work for the empress.

Even Katrina and their lot had hidden within the workings of the Lowlands’ system.

Cullen frowned as he realized that by donning those masks and claiming to be Ferelden, he’d done little better than the Lowlanders. It left a pit in his stomach. One that would have to be dealt with later.

For now, it had grown quiet.

Cullen peered across at where Briala and Morrigan were with Zevran. From the looks of it, the arrow had gone in rather high, just below her collarbone. That wouldn’t have hit anything vital, at least. As soon as they’d worked the arrow out, Morrigan cauterized the wound with fire. He was somewhat impressed that she managed to do so without any screaming.

Even so, she looked ready to pass out.

Before Cullen could call out to them, the quiet was abruptly broken by the sounds of footsteps charging forward. Cullen waited until he heard feet hitting the crate behind them before he swung his sword up and into the shoulder of a fighter just coming over, intending to attack from above.

Cullen shoved the man past them and used his momentum to toss him into the waters beyond. Even as he heard the splash, Briala was yelling for them to move.

Their position was overrun with wat least two dozen humans, from the looks of it, brandishing swords, daggers, and mauls, all well made. Cullen impaled another woman who charged forward and held his ground while Rosalie and Katrina moved behind him to regroup with the others. A few arrows in the nearest enemies bought him time to fallback as well.

Even as he readied to hold his ground, fire began to quite literally rain down from the sky in large, molten balls, bursting upon impact with whatever they hit, ground or people. Their attackers retreated at least temporarily, one of them screaming something about a ‘malificar’.

As Cullen cut down a man who chose to keep moving forward to get out of reach of the flames rather than run back to his allies, Briala gripped his arm. “ _We have to get out of here. They outnumber us, and I’ve a feeling there will be more of them_.”

“ _How many more_?”

“ _Enough to whittle our forces down to nothing and leave us all bobbing, nameless in the sea_.”

Frowning, Cullen lifted his sword to block an attack, only for a dagger to thwack into the man’s throat. The man dropped his sword and staggered to the side before slumping down. Katrina angled past him to retrieve her dagger, looking more than a little terrified. He couldn’t help but wonder where she’d been aiming when she threw that, and how close it’d come to hitting the wrong target.

More things to worry about later.

Morrigan’s fire was dying down, and their attackers were advancing again. Worse still, they could hear shouts in the distance, true to Briala’s warning.

“ _Even if they do not have direct allies, the city guard will not be lenient to any fighting, and the people we fight will likely claim asylum under a noble’s name, leaving us the villains—villains who have sided with an apostate_ ,” Briala insisted. “ _I know where we can go_.”

Cullen couldn’t follow everything she’d said, but he’d understood enough of it. “ _Where_?”

“ _There are safe places throughout the city. We must shake these brutes and then we can go. Come_.”

Despite wondering just how much he could depend upon the Lowlanders, Cullen reminded himself that Cole had found the elf trustworthy and nodded. He paused to kick another attacker into the water, and then started running after the others. The elves knew the streets far better than the rest of them, and the way they wove through side alleys and the like would have been mesmerizing, had Cullen not been needing to keep up. He was somewhat surprised to find that Katrina was almost as agile in this cluttered setting. As lost as she got in the woods, she could tell the difference between the buildings here as clearly as Cullen could navigate the woods.

She and Zevran bound off the walls as they made sharp turns, sometimes running a few feet up the wall and then flipping forward to keep from running into anyone else, or avoid thudding into crates and the like.

Morrigan was having the most trouble retreating. She’d managed to keep hold of the journals, as though she fully expected the whole lot of them to abandon her, should she part with them too soon.

Rosalie and Cullen hung back, covering her to make sure that she wasn’t overwhelmed. Once, when four of their assailants caught up and the fighting threatened to keep them trapped in place long enough for others to catch up as well, they had abruptly found Zevran back with them.

The way he moved as he cut down those who stood against him was…horrifyingly enthralling. As the bodies had fallen, he’d shooed them forward, a grin settling on his features when he met Rosalie’s gaze. “ _Do not fret, my dear. Death is an art I mastered long ago. I will not let them take you_.”

And then they were running again.

As the four of them turned another corner, they skidded to a stop as it became apparent why Katrina had not come back for them as well. A bear of a woman cut down one of the elves they’d been following. A few other corpses lay around them—mostly slight and elven from the looks of it—and Katrina was standing alone, blood running down one of her arms already.

Cullen saw red for an instant before he regained control of himself. Already, he was moving down the alley, and he let his momentum keep up as he barreled toward Katrina’s assailant. He yelled for Katrina to move, and she dodged toward the wall. The woman tried to swing into him, but he dropped into a roll, letting the maul sweep just above him. As the woman recovered—quicker than he would have liked—he brought his sword up, swinging it hard into her side.

She was already sporting a few minor injuries, but he was surprised at how well her armor held up against his attack.

Even as she set about pummeling him with her maul, he darted out of her reach. As she focused on Cullen, Briala dropped down from the roof, landing directly behind their attacker. She lithely darted forward and wrenched the woman’s helm off. Before their enemy could understand what was happening, an arrow was in her forehead.

Cullen dodged away from the falling body and moved back to Katrina, stopping beside her. He put his free hand against her cheek, gaze sweeping over her as he checked for any injuries. There was a small cut along her arm, but it didn’t look like she’d been hit by the maul yet.

Thank the Lady for small mercies.

Speaking of Gods, where was Cole? He’d been dealing with the archers and…

Fear curled in Cullen’s gut. Had he been over-confident in the boy’s abilities? After all, even Gods could fall.

When he looked around them at the massacre, he saw that his earlier assessment had been wrong. Most of the bodies were human, all bearing variations of what he assumed was the same mask. If he’d been better versed in Orlesian politics, he could have said for certain. Only two of the fallen were the elves they’d been working with.

As he looked up, he saw a few of them peering down from the rooftops, having scaled up the walls.

“ _It will be easier from here to travel above. You Avvar have good footing, yes?_ ” Briala motioned upward. “ _Come, you can climb the crates over here and_ —”

One of the elves cried out, falling from the roof with an arrow in her throat. A dozen figures crowded near the far end of the alley, even as the elves on the roofs dropped back into it, angling under the awnings to try to get out of line of sight of their enemies’ archers.

The way back was blocked with their pursuers as they finally caught up.

Even as Cullen cursed, Katrina rolled her eyes and kicked in a window next to them. “ _Come on, then_.”

Their group split up, going into the buildings on either side of the alley just as the archers drew close enough to fire at them. As shouting echoed down the alley, Cullen followed Katrina inside.

It was a maze.

If he was remembering what she’d told him about the city correctly, then this was some sort of storehouse for goods brought in from the ships. It put his people’s stocks chamber to shame, though, to be honest, he couldn’t see that any one hold would ever need this much of anything.

Despite their twists and turns, they hadn’t gotten very far from the waterfront, and as they lost themselves in the maze of boxes and crates, Katrina hung back. “ _We should go back to the docks_.”

“ _To be slaughtered_?” Briala asked, incredulous.

Even as Katrina hesitated, unsure, Cullen narrowed his eyes, realizing why his dear Lowlander was likely hesitant to leave. “ _Amelia wanted us by the docks_. _She wouldn’t have wanted that if she didn’t have a good reason_.”

“ _Perhaps she intended to make it easy for the empress’ people to find you_?” Briala whispered.

Cullen was surprised he didn’t have to hold Katrina back after hearing such implications that her sister might betray them. However, it did make him wonder where Amelia had gotten off to. It seemed odd that she would be missing—she was so overprotective of Katrina.

Or had that been an act?

Even as Cullen frowned at the notion, Briala motioned for them to follow her. “ _Come. We can worry about such things when we are safely away from here_.”

“ _No_.” Katrina held her ground. Then, she seemed to relent to some inner debate, turning to Morrigan rather than an argument. “Give her the journals so she can get out of here.” When Morrigan gave her a bewildered look, Katrina scowled—she looked exhausted. “This picture is so much bigger than any one of us. She can take them and go. We’ll lead off the others and figure something out. They won’t be able to rush us in here, anyway. We can find a corner and pick them off.”

“And if we die?” Morrigan snapped.

“If we die then… it will be worse if Briala dies here with us, when she has the chance to make things right for more people than we could ever hope to bring justice to. This goes so much further than Amelia, or myself, or your clan.” Morrigan didn’t move, hand gripping the satchel’s strap tightly. “This is bigger than all of us. Please.”

“Were you a mage, I’d say that damned God possessed you, what with the way you echo his insistences.”

As Cullen wondered when Cole had even gone on about justice, Morrigan drew the satchel over her shoulder and shoved it toward Briala. “ _Take these and go. They are all in there save a few that prove nobles have manipulated our people._ We _will keep those_.”

Briala stared at them, her eyes wide enough to be noted even behind her mask. She flipped the bag open to peer inside and then let out a bark of a laugh that she quickly quelled. “ _Maker, it is no wonder we could not find them_.” Nodding to each of them, she took a few steps away. “ _Thank you. The elves of Orlais thank you. This empire will be re-forged, just you watch_.”

And with that, she was gone.  

The quiet was short-lived. They could hear the shouts of their pursuers growing closer, weaving their way through the maze.

Cullen glanced around, realizing that Rosalie and Zevran had fled into the opposite storehouse. Now, he was left with Katrina and Morrigan, both of whom were injured—even if Katrina’s was just a scratch. He weighed his sword in his hand, glancing around at their surroundings for an upper hand. He nearly laughed despite himself when he realized Katrina was scaling the crates in a small crook that blocked her from view in most directions. She pointed toward another nook near him and Morrigan. “See. The Lowlands aren’t so different from the mountains. We just happen to assemble our cliffs.”

There were two enemies who had had the same idea to climb up for a better vantage who noticed them and called out a warning to their allies as the trio pulled themselves up top. Morrigan set them alight with a word, smirking as their bodies fell from the higher ground.

Katrina glared at her. “Would you be careful with where you throw your fire? You’ll set the whole building ablaze. Come on. We should head back to the docks.”

“What of Rosalie?” Cullen paused, looking back toward the alley they’d come from. Or he tried to. Every direction seemed to stretch off with nothing but rows and rows of boxes. He couldn’t say for sure which way they’d come in.

“She’s with Zevran. He’ll head back for the docks, too,” Katrina nodded, though Cullen wasn’t sure if it was more for herself. She seemed a little pale, like she was more worried than she was letting on.

Before he could ask if she was alright—or offer to take a better look at her wound and wrap it if need be—she took off running, jumping across the crates and heading over the maze toward one of the walls that seemed impossibly far away. Cullen wondered how she could tell what direction to head.

They’d almost made it to the opening when Katrina stumbled as she ran, plummeting to the ground and landing against a lower stack of crates with a loud crack.

Morrigan jumped past before slowing as Cullen dropped down to where she’d fallen.

“Katrina?” he said softly, kneeling beside her. She pushed herself to her feet, reaching up and quickly pulling herself back up the boxes.

“It’s nothing. I just slipped.”

There was a tremor in her voice.

Cullen climbed up after her, looking her over with more care. She was definitely paler than she should have been.

An arrow thudded into the crate beside Morrigan, narrowly missing her foot. She cast another fireball, smirking at the responding scream, before starting toward the exit again. Katrina’s took a step forward as though to run, but her footing seemed unsound.

With a curse, Cullen glanced back to see another Lowlander climbing up to get a clear shot at them.

They didn’t have time. Reaching out, he easily caught her around the waist and slung her over his shoulder. He was surprised—and worried—when she didn’t protest the action.

Cullen darted over the last few crates, with Morrigan covering them with her magic, until they finally reached the wall. It seemed like that short space took infinitely longer than the rest of their time in the Lowlands all together.

Something felt wrong.

 _Every_ thing felt wrong.

Korth’s teeth, how could he fix this?

As soon as they made it out of the building, they were surrounded.

The docks rose from the waters not two blocks down the wharf from them, and they were surrounded.

With a curse, Cullen set Katrina down near the wall and readied his blade. From the corner of his eye, he saw her draw her own blades. Her grip looked weak.

Even as the first man charged them, a knife sunk into his neck, and he fell short.

Amelia charged in from the right, a thin blade similar to the sort of thing a chevalier might use in hand as she caught one of their attackers off guard. However, her form was poor—about as poor as Katrina’s. She hadn’t thrown the dagger.

As though to answer just who had come to their aid, a figure dropped down from a few crates stacked outside the storehouse, landing between two other enemies. Even as she landed, they were falling to the ground, blood spraying from their necks. The woman didn’t wait for anyone to realize what was happening, instead lunging forward into the dim light from a nearby lamppost, the flickering flame illuminating her sepia skin and dark hair, held back with a bright blue bandana.

Cullen didn’t have much time to keep an eye on her, however. As soon as the bodies started dropping, everything fell to chaos. He stayed close to Katrina, fending off the attackers as they came, with Morrigan at his side, tossing fire about with little regard to what it hit.

Their mysterious savior called out once in indignation as a ball of fire flew just past her face, singing a few stray hairs. Unlike Cullen, Morrigan, and even Amelia, their savior was anything but stationary. One minute she’d be taking down a towering brute to their left, the next, she’d be pulling a dagger out of a lithe form lying still off to their right.

As more of their attackers closed in on them, the woman let out a curse. “ _Sweet thing! Get your sister, and let’s go_!”

“ _Bel, no. We can’t. We’re missing people_ ,” Amelia argued, pausing to look at Cullen. “ _Or did Rosalie and Zevran_ …”

“ _I don’t know what happened to them_ ,” Cullen admitted, looking back toward the encroaching enemies. “ _They went toward that other building when we were cornered_.” He pointed with his sword.

“ _Which wouldn’t have happened if you’d stayed at the docks_ ,” Amelia huffed.

“ _We were attacked at the docks_!” Cullen snapped.

“ _Enough of that. Worry your pretty heads about blame after we’re out of the noose’s reach, hmm_?” their savior asked, flipping over another attacker and then snapping his neck with her hands. As he fell, she retrieved her daggers from two other corpses. “ _Four against a small army aren’t the odds I like_.”

“ _I’d wager you are a small army_ ,” Morrigan muttered, setting another man on fire.

With a wink, she grinned. “ _Well, I am doing most of the work right now. Something I’m not particularly fond of, when it’s not supposed to be my neck on the line_ ,” she added, turning a critical glare toward Amelia.

She parried a thrust and managed to impale another attacker. “ _You should have brought the rest of the crew with us_!”

“ _You said there’d be a couple elves, not this_!”

“ _Isabela! We can’t leave them_!”

“ _We can’t stay either_ ,” Isabela argued. The golden jewelry adorning her neck and wrists glinted in the light.

“ _Take Katrina and get out of here. She’s not as good a fighter and_ —” Cullen’s voice cut off as he looked back at her, fully expecting a fiery objection that she could hold her own. Instead, he saw Morrigan kneeling beside where she lay, sprawled out and motionless on the ground. Paling, he darted back to her. In his determination, he hadn’t even noticed she wasn’t fending off fools alongside of him.

How…?

He’d made sure not to let anyone past.

She was still breathing, but it was labored. Rising back to his feet, he motioned toward Amelia. “ _Go. Take her. I’ll buy you time_.”

Amelia hesitated and then held her ground. “ _Morrigan, can you carry her_?”

Though the mage seemed ready to argue, Amelia motioned with her head. “ _I’ll stay here and_ —”

A sword came swinging through the air, and Cullen barely managed to sprint forward fast enough to block it. In a swift motion, he’d disarmed the woman bearing down on Amelia, and gutted her. As she fell, he paused, wrenching her shield from her arm and taking it for himself. He bashed another attacker in the face, breaking their nose, and then slammed the edge of the shield into a third man’s neck.

When he pulled it free, he paused to adjust the straps and then brought it up with barely enough time to block an arrow.

Great.

More archers.

Cullen picked up another of the swords and chucked it at the nearest one, not bothering to wait to see it hit its mark before blocking another ground attack. When he’d dispatched that fighter, he beheaded a rogue sneaking up on Isabela.

She turned to see the body falling and grinned. “ _Oh, I like you_.”

Cullen and Isabela turned to face the onset of attackers, only to find that the numbers they’d been expecting were already nearly nonexistent.

The last of them fell to the ground, and Zevran straightened out of an attack stance, spinning his daggers and then sheathing them, grinning at them. “ _I see you decided to play without us_.”

Rosalie dropped down from the roof. Her quiver was missing, but she’d taken one of their enemies’ to replace it. Even so, she only had two arrows left.

Cullen darted forward, gripping Rosalie in a tight hug. “Thank the Lady you’re safe.”

“And you.” She patted his back before glancing around. “Where’s Katrina?”

At that miserable reminder, Cullen whirled back toward where he’d left Katrina, hurrying over and dropping to his knees beside her as Morrigan took advantage of the lull in the fighting to examine her.

“What happened?”

“ _Poison_ ,” Amelia whispered.

At the utterance, Cullen’s gaze honed in on Katrina’s cut. It hadn’t been that deep. Perhaps that’s why it had taken as long as it had to affect her. As he inspected the injury, his heart felt hollow. Discolored lines followed her veins, spreading away from the injury.

“No,” Cullen whispered, looking up at Morrigan. “Can you help?”

“I’m no healer,” she replied, for once seeming distraught rather than annoyed. “I know some herbal remedies, but I haven’t the reagents…”

Shouts sounded in the distance.

Cullen felt his stomach churn. “More of them?”

“ _Dammit_ …” Isabela paused, hopping up onto the roof as though it had been a mere skip away and darting out of sight. She returned a few seconds later. “ _It’s the blighted guard. We have to go_.”

Without further prompt, Cullen looped his arms under Katrina, and followed numbly after the rest of them. They moved quick enough that the sounds of alarm from finding the remnants of their blood bath never quite caught up, though they did echo after them, the threat of being caught pushing their group to move faster than they should have been able to. Abruptly, Isabela—who had taken lead—turned down one of the docks, running swiftly across the wooden planks that teetered over the inky black water.

Cullen barely even realized he’d followed until he was setting Katrina down on a hammock. Amelia was beside him, barking orders to someone as unfamiliar sounds flooded his ears.

His world rocked.

He felt sick.

Was it the movement of his world—of the damned boat—or the fact that Katrina looked like she was about to slip out of it with any breath?

“Please, love, don’t leave me… Please…”


	29. As All Things Must

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was going to be an epilogue, but I really, really like the way this ended, so I'll post the epilogue as a side story. Also, if anyone wants to see more of these characters and their adventures, feel free to send me prompts over on tumblr; I'm mysdrym there, too. I'll post any prompts/drabbles I do for this with the epilogue under The Lowlanders' Grand Game - Side Stories.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! Your comments have made my day time and time again, and I hope you like the end to Katrina and Cullen's story.
> 
> (Oh, and this chapter is also NSFW. Heads up.)

**We meet again.**

The voice was deep, endless.

Familiar.

Katrina felt oddly numb, as though most of her was missing, like she was floating in water or just… emptiness.

Emptiness that had a sky made of greens and grays, dismal and other-worldly. There was a foreign beauty to it, though she didn’t like how clear it was. Something about that clarity felt wrong.

She stared up at the sky, debating whether or not she ought to fault it for that growing feeling of unease. She frowned when she could see a darkly outlined city hanging up in the nothingness overhead. It looked as though it had been torn from the ground ages ago and hung up where the moons should have been, a grim reminder of…something.

She couldn’t remember what.

Memories were hazy, and yet this place was clear.

That wasn’t right.

It should have been the other way around.

And it was most certainly that off-colored sky’s fault.

It was taunting her from where it spanned across eternity, with its infinite space and penchant for allowing the impossible to be real.

Wanting to fill her vision with anything but that hideous sky, Katrina turned her head, quite surprised to find a knight seated in the emptiness beside her, legs crossed and hands resting on his knees as he patiently waited for her to respond.

What was it he’d said? Meeting before?

Images of her in a forest of identical trees burst to life around them and slowly the conversation came back to her. He’d watched her memories—memories she couldn’t remember—and seen the path that had led her out to that snowy hell in the mountains.

No, not hell.

There’d been something important out there.

Some…one?

It was hard to think, and the world around her seemed to beg her not to, to just let go and drift away. Even as she felt a strange tug into that nothingness, the knight cleared his throat, recapturing her attention.

When she looked at him, it took her a few beats before she could remember what had been coming back to her. She’d been in the mountains—what were mountains even?

The words tumbling in her head meant so little…

The emptiness around them receded as hazy images of towering landscapes filled that void, trees and rocks and brush dotting and twisting in ways that made her certain something was amiss. These trees and rocks weren’t quite right.

A beast lay out in one, its golden eyes oddly concrete in this shifting space, more real that perhaps even she was. It watched her with an unblinking gaze, tail swishing down behind the branch it was perched on as it watched her.

Waiting.

For what? For her?

**I was surprised Asmund took such little persuading to accept you into his hold, into his protection.**

The knight spoke simply, as though he and the beast in the tree had known one another for a long time.

No, not a beast. Well, not in the manner she’d been thinking.

He was a hold-beast. A lion.

And his gaze wasn’t on her.

Two hazy figures stood a little ways away from them—how she could see them while she lay there, she couldn’t say…it felt like the angles should have been off. She could just barely make out pointed ears and white hair on one. The other was a bigger man, with a streak of red across his face. As she looked at him, his lips moved silently.

_You’re welcome._

Katrina tried to remember why those two would be important. There had been something going on, something with someone very dear to her…

For an instant, she felt as though she were being held, safe and sound in strong arms.

Cullen…

The memory came into perfect focus for a second, with Cullen standing beside her with his brother and Cassandra, holding onto Katrina to keep her from going after Garrett with another brindleseed.

As quickly as it came, it faded, though Katrina desperately clung to what little she could remember. Looking back at the lion, she felt a little steadier. The hold-beast had the same eyes as Cullen.

Asmund had left the tree as it faded out of existence and paced over to them, coming to sit on his haunches beside the knight.

Katrina tried to look around for Cullen as well and felt like turning her head made her see less of the world. How that even began to make sense was beyond her.

She somehow couldn’t be bothered by it though. Some little part of her whispered that that was as it should be.

That might have been as it should be, but Cullen being missing wasn’t. He’d promised, hadn’t he?

Another memory swept around them.

More trees and a cliff.

Again she felt safe, wrapped in muscular arms.

“And just when did I break my word?” The words echoed around her, and she was surprised at how guilty she felt. Of course he wouldn’t have broken his promise to help her, to be there for her.

He loved her.

And she loved him.

Yet again, the world around them shifted, to a small dark room that blocked out that horrid, Black City, and its absent Maker.

Instead, she was wrapped up in furs, cuddled close to Cullen, watching him sleep after a rather particularly fun evening. She loved watching him like that. All the worries melted away from his face, and he looked almost boyish, as though the world had never crushed too much down upon his broad shoulders.

She reached out to touch his cheek and frowned when the memory disappeared.

Where was he?

For him not to be here with her now… He hadn’t been hurt, had he?

**He is fine.**

The knight and lion were watching her still.

“You’d best hope he is, or I may not be liable for my actions,” she finally whispered back, having found her voice. When he laughed—even Asmund seemed to allow a certain mirth to settle over his feline features—she allowed herself a faint smile, a little surprised that the muscles moved at all.

That anything here obeyed her at all was…miraculous.

**Will is everything here. So tell me, what is yours?**

She inspected his glimmering armor. He was translucent—she wasn’t sure how she knew when there wasn’t anything behind him to see—and she recognized the way his eyes glowed, peering at her through the thin slit in his helm. “You are very bright.”

**As are you.**

His voice echoed all around them, though it held a weight to it that ground it. Grounded her.

With a frown, she eyed him. “That is certainly not something I’ve been accused of being before.”

**Do you remember our first conversation?**

Katrina reached up, rubbing at the scar on her head. “You called me a fool and then had me play the part.” When both he and Asmund cocked their heads, she motioned toward him. “You gave me a chance to fix a wrong that needn’t be fixed. Amelia didn’t need saving at all.”

**And you found your way to the injustice I _wanted_ you to mend.**

“And yet that might go unfulfilled, too. If it is fixed, it won’t be by my hands.” Katrina frowned, rubbing her head again, and then noting that her other arm hurt too much to move. The numbness was gone, at least.

It abruptly dawned on her that the last time she’d been here, she’d been dying.

And it hadn’t been this clear.

Asmund rose to his feet and plodded the short distance to her, sniffing her once and then licking her scar before turning and simply fading out of existence.

Heading back to his hold, perhaps.

Or wherever else he was needed.

Taking in a ragged breath, she let her right hand fall back to her side. “I guess in the end you were right. My words weren’t enough to start any fires.”

 **It depends on the kind of fire you’re looking for**. The knight replied, echoing words she could remember proclaiming what felt like a lifetime ago. Though she couldn’t see his lips, she was certain that he was smiling. **You have done more than I expected of you.**

“You must not have expected much, then,” Katrina muttered. Even as she spoke, the knight let out a faint laugh and reached his hand out, pressing his palm against her shoulder. Pain blazed through her, and she cried out.

The world around them writhed to life, white spires of pain creating a snowy expanse that roiled upon itself, disinterested in the cold it should have been and instead boiling itself into a frenzy that wouldn’t die down.

It felt like an eternity before it began to ebb and calm. With it receded the pain, away from her chest and elbow first, drawing back toward the knight’s touch.

**You are right. I did not. Compassion had faith in you, though, and it was well placed.**

Compassion…

For a tick, Katrina was lost, but then, quite abruptly, an image of a boy she knew well bubbled forth, as though he were sitting beside her. However, the stillness of the illusion gave it away for what it was.

She focused on the face she’d made herself remember over the last few months, rather than the pain in her.

Cole.

“Where is he?” Katrina tried to sit up, but the knight’s grip on her shoulder held her in place. “We lost track of him in the fighting.”

**There is much for him to do in the world, Orlais in particular. I doubt you will see him again.**

“Do you think he’ll help Briala?”

**He already does.**

Narrowing her eyes, Katrina puzzled over his words.

 **Dreams do not move the same as your time** , the knight explained, finally lifting his hand from her shoulder. She tested her arm, lifting it and finding nothing out of order. **It is time for you to move on.**

“Move on from what, exactly?” Katrina frowned. “Where are we?”

**Even if I told you, you wouldn’t remember.**

“Well that’s an excuse if I ever heard one,” she mumbled, pushing herself up. There was ground beneath them, as it should be. It was odd and wrong, but it didn’t know how to be right here.

Here, where it could only echo what the real ground looked like.

In the Fade.

As she looked back at the spirit or God or whatever it was beside her, eyes wide, he nodded to her.

**Safe travels, Katrina.**

The knight abruptly shone brighter until his light overtook everything else in that oddly twisting world, and she had to close her eyes against that ethereal illumination.

…-…

Cullen lay beside Katrina, his body curled as close to her as he could manage, one hand resting against the side of her neck, his thumb occasionally moving to stroke her fevered skin. Amelia was working with one of the others on the ship—one of the _pirates_ —to try to mix together some new concoction that might help stem the poison’s reach.

He had offered what little he knew of Avvar antidotes, as had Morrigan, but even with Zevran’s ample knowledge of all poisons, they had barely been able to stave off the effects as it spread through her. Isabela had made the mistake of pointing out that even if Katrina recovered, she was likely to suffer permanent damage of some kind—like the loss of mobility of her arm.

Amelia was barely talking to anyone thanks to that.

How was it that all he could do was wait when the one he loved most was lying beside him dying? To wait and pray and hope that the Gods could hear his pleas as far from the mountains as he was. He had led raids, fended off attack after attack, run a damned hold for three years, and here he was as useless as a babe.

Worse than that, he couldn’t handle the sea. He could barely breathe below deck, the tight confines of the space making him feel like a mountain was crushing down upon him, and the constant rocking of the boat made it nearly impossible to keep anything down.

And yet…

He hadn’t been able to stay on deck very long, either. He couldn’t abandon Katrina. Even if there was nothing he could do, he couldn’t leave her.

He felt like they’d gone back to when they’d first met, to watching that nameless Lowlands Lady fight for her life against insurmountable odds. She’d won that fight, hadn’t she? Perhaps she could win this one…

Except this time was different. It wasn’t some fiery spirited stranger lying there, but his lover, his Katrina.

Every day he prayed…

Sometimes it seemed like it was working. After all, a few of the crew had mentioned—the few times he’d been in earshot, anyway—that it was odd she’d lasted as long as she had. There had to be some credence in that.

Katrina had pulled through worse, through frostbite and concussions, broken bones and—

Abruptly, her body went rigid, and a hiss of pain slithered its way from her teeth. Cullen was up in a breath, holding her as she tensed like she might seize up.

“Katrina?” He cried out, his gut twisting into knots.

She cried out again, stiffening further. Lady’s mercy, but she seemed like her limbs might snap backwards. Cullen was at a loss, trying to wrap his arms around her in a way that would prevent any damage, not sure if he should even be doing that much.

Then, abruptly, the tension fled from her body. She slumped back against the bed. That terrified him more than the seizure. “Katrina!” She was limp, her chest rising slower and slower. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her to him, cradling her head against his shoulder. “Please don’t die.”

Her breathing quieted, her body grew still.

Cullen’s world stopped, suspended in the moment, refusing to accept what was happening as reality.

He’d never expected himself to be in some great, epic tale of love that lasted the ages—the Avvar knew that things changed, that expectations of such permanence were unreasonable—and yet…he hadn’t thought it would end like this, either.

This couldn’t be…

Lady, not yet…

With an abrupt gasp, Katrina’s whole body trembled. Cullen loosened his grip on her enough to peer down and see that her hazel eyes were wide open. Her hands shook as she lifted them, her breaths coming in short, quick gasps.

Cullen’s jaw hung slack, not sure what to do, what to say.

Whatever disorientation had come with her waking subsided as she looked up at him, blinking a few times before she really seemed to see him. “Cullen?”

Her voice was barely a croak.

Barely a croak and somehow it was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

He leaned his head down, resting his forehead against hers, eyes closed. “How do you do that?”

When she spoke again, her voice was groggy, but stronger. “Do what?”

“Not die.”

“I…” she trailed off, brow pinching together. “I feel like there is a good answer for you, but I can’t…quite remember.” Her hands reached up for him, shaky fingers pressing against his bare chest—since they’d been on the boat, Cullen had forgone all but the necessities for common decency, as the heat was nigh unbearable. Katrina’s hands worked their way slowly across his skin, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him closer. He moved willingly under her touch. “I think someone was watching over me?”

Cullen laughed faintly, forehead still pressed to hers. “That or you’re just too stubborn to die.”

“Hey!” She teasingly dug her nails into him, though her grip still felt weak.

He pulled away from her a little, opening his eyes and looking down to see that, though she was still pale enough to make her freckles considerably more prominent than they ought to be, she was really, truly breathing, in his arms.

He didn’t realize that he was crying until one of his tears fell down against her cheek. As he wiped it away with his thumb, she leaned up toward him. “None of that…it’s alright.”

He let out a strangled laugh as he dropped his head back down to hers, holding her tightly.

It _would_ be alright.

Katrina was still his.

She tilted her head so that her lips brushed his, and he eagerly met her, his mouth molding against hers. A desperation filled him, and he deepened their kiss, half afraid that this was some dream that he would wake from. He would open his eyes and find her lying lifeless beside him.

Her hands slid up his bare chest and around his neck, pulling him out of his fears. As he resentfully broke their kiss for breath, her fingers found their way into his hair, tangling in his curly locks and dragging him back down to her lips as soon as he’d managed a few gulps of air.

He shifted until he was on top of her, his fingers searching for the hem of her shirt. She helped him tug it over her head. As he fumbled with the ties on his pants, she pressed kisses against his chest, her fingers sliding down his body and over his pants, gripping him through the cloth. He groaned, nearly losing his hold on the ties. He jerked them hastily, kicking out of his pants and smallclothes.

He cursed quietly as he realized she was still wearing hers when he rutted against her. One of her hands wrapped around him squeezing lightly before she let go, trailing her nails gently along his length. He swore as pleasure shot through him, his head resting in the crook of her neck.

When she wrapped her hand around him again, he gasped. Cullen lifted his head so that he could press a hot, open mouthed kiss against her throat. She let out a soft cry at that, and he smiled against her skin, following his first kiss with dozens more.

It had been far too long since he’d felt her touch like this.

Far too long since her bare skin had pressed against his, since he’d been inside of her, one with her.

He could feel that he was already close to release, and he lightly caught her wrist, whispering, “Wait.”

She let go of him, turning her head to kiss his ear. He waited a moment to catch his breath before his hands slid down her smooth skin to her hips. When his fingertips reached the hem of her pants, he let them trail along the edge of the cloth, smiling as he listened to the way her breathing caught in her throat whenever his touch crossed over one of her more sensitive spots.

He wasn’t sure how he undid her ties so smoothly, but with another motion, he was pulling her pants down, along with her smallclothes. When she’d wriggled out of them fully, he trailed his hand back up her leg, along her inner thigh. She shivered in anticipation, though he only let his fingers brush near where she wanted him.

“Cullen…” she pleaded, catching his face with her hands and drawing his lips to hers. She whispered his name again against his lips.

Despite any plans to draw out their first time in what felt to have been forever, he could hardly keep his lady waiting. She was already ready for him, and so he rolled over, tugging her into his lap. She settled over him, sheathing him inside of her as she gasped and kissed and nipped his lips.

He held her to him, nearly overcome again with the simple fact that they were together, that through everything that had happened, she was here, with him, his.

And he was hers.

She rocked her hips, moving him inside of her, her breasts pressed against him as he held her close.

He met her movements with sharp thrusts, harder than usual, and her nails dug into his shoulders as she cried out her approval.

Finally, the came together, her body clenching around him and bringing him blissful release.

She laughed as she slumped against him, head resting on his shoulder, breath coming in quick gasps.

Turning his head, he kissed her temple. As she looked up at him, he pressed another kiss to the corner of her mouth, and then another. He stilled after that, content to feel her heartbeat against his. “You know that I love you, don’t you?”

“I love you, too,” she whispered, snuggling up against him.

…-…

Rosalie rocked from heel to toe beside Cullen as he leaned against a post on Kirkwall’s docks, relishing the simple fact that he was no longer on a boat. They were going to have to go back out to see to get to Ferelden—Isabela had offered to drop them off in Highever, which was the closest port city to the mountains, outside of Orlais.

Everyone was more than willing for a few extra weeks of travel if it meant not having to ever set foot in Orlais again.

Everyone.

Cullen shook his head, finally glancing around them and hating the way the water refused to stop moving. He’d take a crystalline pond over this excess any day. The Lowlands really did keep too much of everything at hand.

Zevran trotted up, a few bags slung over his shoulders. He looked at Rosalie and then to Cullen, extending his hand. When Cullen slowly took it, he grinned. “ _It has been a pleasure to work with you, dear thane. I hope fortune smiles upon you and Katrina in the future_.”

“ _You are welcome to come with us_ ,” Cullen offered as the elf finally withdrew his hand. “ _I know there are people after you_.”

“ _They would find their way to me no matter where I rest, if they truly wish for my head. I am thinking perhaps I will get to them first_.” Zevran’s smile was brilliant as he shrugged. “ _I doubt they will see me coming, anyway. At least not the first dozen or so._ ”

“ _Lady watch over you_ ,” Cullen murmured, unsure what else to say to that.

“ _Between my luck and skill, I need so such guidance, though any additional help is welcomed, of course_.” With a flourished bow, Zevran trotted back onto the ship and said a few quiet words to Katrina. Considering some of the stories he’d heard, Cullen wasn’t sure he’d have believed the elf, even if he had believed in ‘luck’.

Even as Cullen shook his head, Rosalie hugged him. “I’m going with Zevran.”

Cullen stopped, arms half encircling his little sister. “What?”

“We work well together,” Rosalie said, stepping back from him. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “And I love him. And I love the Lowlands. Maybe mother can see some of it while she watches over me.”

At first, words would not come. Part of him wanted to reject the idea, but then, what would he do? Demand she return to the mountains to be stolen properly by some other Avvar? She was happy with Zevran, and that mattered more than the traditions they were already flouting.

Taking in a deep breath, Cullen nodded slowly. “Stay sharp. Don’t let the frivolities down here go to your head.”

“I’ll try not to,” she offered. Thumping her fist against her chest in a salute, she nodded to him. “Lady watch over you.”

Cullen started to salute her back, and instead pulled her in to a tight hug. “May the Gods keep you safe. Don’t forget them. We know that they watch more than just the mountains. They’ll look after those who respect them.”

“I will.” Rosalie hugged him again. “Maybe we’ll see each other again someday.”

“If not, I’ll see you when we reach the sky.” Cullen nodded upward.

Her lips quirked into a small smile when she nodded back.

As she turned, Zevran stepped off the plank onto the docks, Katrina in tow. Rosalie hugged her briefly, and then she and Zevran laced their fingers together and began to make their way into the city.

Even as Katrina and Cullen watched the two of them depart, Isabela darted over and hit the deck’s rail. “ _We’ll be leaving in half an hour, so don’t go wandering off. And if you’re not on the ship when it’s time to leave, you’re getting left behind. Kirkwall is bad luck for anyone who stays here too long_.”

Cullen coughed into his hand as Katrina laughed and thanked Isabela for the warning as Amelia walked over to see what was going on. With a laugh, the pirate captain shrugged. “ _Just letting you know. Wouldn’t want to see the two of you swimming after the ship, after all. That’s Amelia’s job_.”

Amelia lightly thwacked Isabela on the arm, though the pirate merely gave her a wide grin before turning back to her deck. Isabela strode away, issuing orders to prepare the ship.

Taking in a deep breath, Katrina looked up at Cullen, looping an arm around Cullen’s and leaning into him, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Are you ready to go home?”  

He hesitated, watching the small boats move across the sea in the distance, feeling that heat beating down on them, and thinking about everything that had led them there. They’d fought their way through so much, seen and done so much. It felt odd to just go back to the mountains straight away, back to such a simple life. “Actually, I thought we might take our time. I’d like to see more of your world before we go back to mine.”

“You just don’t want to get back on the ship,” Katrina teased, leaning into him playfully.

“I really don’t, but at the same time…” Cullen’s voice trailed off as his gaze swept back inland. “There’s a lot here to see.”

“Well,” Katrina tilted her head, considering what he’d said. “The hottest months are finally behind us. So I suppose, if you want to explore the north, this would be the time to do it. It will still be hot to you, though.” When Cullen didn’t seem deterred, she smiled. “You can stay here. I’ll get our things off the boat and say goodbye to Amelia and the others. Morrigan will probably be heartbroken that we won’t be traveling together through Ferelden.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Cullen grinned as Katrina loosened her grip on him and then let go, trotted up the plank leading to the ship as though it wasn’t some teetering monstrosity, ready to drown all aboard with a single good sized wave.

Perhaps he was making this decision based more on his dislike for water…

He glanced toward the city again, frowning as he realized he could see smoke billowing up from a few different points in town.

Katrina was right. The city was always on fire.

This would be…an adventure.

…-…

Katrina watched from the ship’s deck as Cullen shouldered the pack she’d tossed down to him, eager to be back on dry land—even if it was Kirkwall of all places. Amelia stood next to her, a critical expression in place. “ _I guess this is it, then_.”

“ _I can’t believe you never told me you became a pirate_ ,” Katrina replied, shaking her head slowly. “ _You know, that’s a hang-able offense_.”

“ _I’m not worried about it_ ,” Amelia replied before slipping an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “ _You’re the one who told me to live a little_.”

“ _I didn’t think you’d become a pirate_.”

“ _And what of you? Going off with that…idiot_.”

“ _Cullen is quite brilliant_.”

“ _You were on your deathbed for a week and his response to you waking up was to take you right that second, no regard for how frail you should have been_.”

“ _I enjoyed it_ ,” Katrina retorted, unable to conceal the smirk that crossed her face. They’d barely settled against one another when Amelia had rushed in, having heard noises and fearing that the worst had happened. She’d just about strangled Cullen when she realized what had actually transpired.

“ _Still an idiot_.”  

With that, Katrina scoffed. “ _Still not a pirate_.”

“ _This excursion of his into the ‘Lowlands’ won’t last. By this time next year, he’ll have you leading your own raids against travelers, stealing their belongings_.”

Trying not to laugh, Katrina shrugged. “ _Well, if someone can’t keep their own things safe, they don’t really deserve them_.”

“ _Now who sounds like a pirate_.”

“ _But you_ are _one_ ,” Katrina objected, looking at Amelia, critically. “ _What would Gregory say_?”

“ _I don’t give a damn what he’d say_ ,” Amelia shrugged, smiling slightly. Her smile slipped as she looked back at Cullen. He was watching them, almost as though he feared Katrina might stay on the ship and sail off into the sunset without him.

“ _He’s a good man_.”

“ _He stole my little sister from me_.”

“ _Oh, he’ll be thrilled you said that_ ,” Katrina perked up. When she noticed Amelia looked annoyed, she rolled her eyes. “You know he’s good.”

“ _And a good fighter and ridiculously loyal, and he loves you_.” Amelia shook her head. “ _And I won’t be able to beat him senseless if he ever hurts you_.”

“ _He won’t_.”

“ _He’d better not_ ,” Amelia declared, standing a little straighter. “ _I don’t care if you do settle in a different part of the mountains. I found you last time, I’ll find you again. And I’ll make him or anyone else pay for hurting my little sister._ ”

“ _Send word if any of the other pirates are mean to you_ ,” Katrina offered, taking a step toward the plank leading down to the docks. “ _I’ll come ruin them for you_.”

Tears beaded on Amelia’s eye lashes as she shook her head. “ _You stay safe. No more playing with Orlesians. They’re awful people_.”

“ _They are_.” Katrina thought better of it and stepped back to hug Amelia. “ _And you. Try to steal from Orlesians more than Marchers, alright?_ ”

“ _Of course_.”

“ _I love you, Ams_.”

“ _Love you, too, Kat_.”

And with that, Katrina started down the plank to Cullen, and whatever else might await them in this wide, winding world.


End file.
